


Nick of Time

by iamnumanan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Music, Multilingual Character, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Sexual Content, Synesthesia, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnumanan/pseuds/iamnumanan
Summary: Dramatis Personae-	Nicole: A traveler and musician-	Zoltan: A merchant and veteran of the Second Nilfgaardian War-	Julian Pankratz (a.k.a Dandelion): A performer of some renown-	Callonetta: A visiting trobairitz-	Regis: A skilled Alchemist-	The Doctor: An Expert in his trade-	A Witcher: A Specialist sell-swordThe year is 1273 and War has broken out between Nilfgaard and the Northern Kingdoms.Two travelers from the borders of Zerrikania make their way north through hostile territory, following the rumors of sightings and contracts taken by A Witcher. The pair track their quarry to the city of Novigrad at a time when The Church of Eternal Fire has begun its pogroms on Mages--and any non-human troublemaker.Old friends and new conspire to lure the Witcher out of hiding.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Nick of Time

“He laid a spread of Jacks and Queens  
And he begged me take my pick  
But every face that had your face  
I cried out, I am sick”

_— Shooting Shark, Blue Öyster Cult_

“I'm gonna drink my whiskey  
I'm gonna have my man  
I know you got nothing to say  
I'm gonna have my man  
Gonna steal their hearts  
and save them for another day”

_— Legend of a Cowgirl, Imani Coppola_

**0.**

We stable our horses and my companion speaks to the anxious stable boy. “Gate of the Hierarch and be quick about it, laddie.”

Said boy swallows, looks from me to my companion and back. “Um… K-keep the river on your left and t-take the second bridge you come to, s-sir.”

My companion nods and palms the boy a purse. The young man pockets this and bows. He is quick to find somewhere else to be.

The rain blowing in from the coast is cold and sharp and the wind rattles the shutters. The horses chuff and shuffle on uneasy feet, and oil lamps flicker, casting flashing long shadows against the waddle and daub.

The skies darkened early and drenched the two of us those last miles of our journey, forcing us to slow our pace or risk one of the horses going lame. I brace myself, tuck my chin, and pull the hood of my borrowed cloak down until it brushes my upper lip.

My companion leads the way out of the grooming area and through a side door. The wind bites. The rain pelts my shoulders. The two of us clutch our cloaks tighter and trudge down a muddied path towards raised plank sidewalks.

“Can ye— lass?”

I turn to the sound of his voice, shake my head.

He frowns and leans in close. “Can. Ye. See. Well. Enough. Lass?”

I stop and shrug.

“We need to hurry. The guard is a changin’ soon and…” He catches himself, shakes his head again, and resumes a harried pace toward our destination.

I catch up with him in a few strides. My legs are longer; I am tall—even among my own people. Here, in this… Place… My height has drawn notice.

So has the color of my skin, the texture of my hair, the color of my eyes, the pattern of my speech, the sound of my accent, the fit and style of my clothing, the scent of my soap, and the number of weapons I carry as a member of the _wrong_ gender.

If it wasn’t any _one_ of these, it would be my ignorance of the local customs, religion, folk stories, recent histories, and bodies of law.

If it wasn’t any one of _those_ , it would be the medallion I keep hidden inside my gambeson.

If it wasn’t for _that_ , it would be my CZ 75B with an extended clip I have holstered inside the waistband of my leather pants.

There are so many things to navigate, it is easier for me to close my eyes and slog forward.

***

“ _Palms forward and into the light!_ ”

Two guards in red and white emerge from the shelter of the gatehouse with a hooded oil lamp and hands on sword hilts. My companion is quick to comply with the order and I follow suit.

_“Approach!”_

We fall into step as we cross the bridge.

The guard with the lantern holds up his hand and shouts, “ _Hold!_ ”

My companion and I stand a couple of meters in front of the pair.

“ _State your business_.”

My companion speaks for us. “I am a local merchant and I return to my workshop here.”

Another guard emerges from the opposite side of the gatehouse, with a crossbow pointed at the ground. This third guard gives us both a long and evaluating look.

The guard without the lantern motions to us with his open hand. “Papers.”

My companion is careful as he moves the edge of his cloak aside and reaches for a scroll case attached to his belt. He opens this, picks out two pieces of vellum, and extends them to the guard without the lantern.

These are passed between the two guards; they consider them and us. The third takes a step forward.

_Curious intent blows away in the wind._

_Sharper and violent ones circle around us._

Another two guards close in behind us.

A fierce gust of wind catches the edge of my hood and blows it back.

The two guards on the bridge pull up about two meters behind us. The guard with the lantern nudges the other without, and the pair _leer_ at me.

A _sixth_ guard emerges from the gate house; his cloak is fur-lined, and his armor is polished and adorned where the others are not. This sixth guard and I lock eyes as he approaches. He stops and shouts, “ _Soldiers, report!_ ”

They startle and snap to attention.

The guard with the lantern sneers at us. “The dwarf seeks entry and _the woman with him_ has questionable taste in who beds her.”

The guards behind us snicker.

Fur-lined cloak motions for our papers with one hand while he demands, “Ser Dwarf, your hood?”

My companion is slow and mindful of his movements as he pulls his hood back from his face.

Fur-lined cloak looks from the papers to my companion and nods once. “This _dwarf_ is known to me. _He_ may pass.”

_Lust._

_Violence._

The guard behind me and to my left draws steel.

My companion puts his hands on his hips and addresses the man whose word can kill us where we stand. “Have ye not heard o’ the fightin’ women of Zerrikania?”

“This one has both her tits though.” This, from the guard without the lantern.

_It is all I can do not to inform the man one pulls the bowstring to the ear._

Fur-lined cloak takes in the dual swords strapped to my back, the short saber at my hip, and the daggers tucked into the tops of my boots. He signals to the other men: The third guard’s crossbow comes up; the pair of guards at our backs take a step forward, weapons ready.

Fur lined cloak says something, but the wind and the rain drowns him out.

I shake my head.

He closes the distance, leans in, and whispers in my ear. “No funny business. Not on _my_ watch.”

He slaps our papers into the hand of my companion.

***

“That was close, Zoltan.”

“Which is _why_ I was _urgin_ ’ yer long shanks to hurry along and to _stop gawkin_ ’.”

“My apologies. I’m finding the… City to be a bit _overwhelming_.”

He mutters something in a language I don’t understand while he leads me to the back of an inn a stone’s throw from the gate. When we enter, my companion takes a position between me and the inner door. I hang my cloak on a peg and stomp off what I can of the mud from my boots. When I look up, Zoltan motions for me to hand over my swords and I do so without hesitation.

He leads me through a storage area, up a set of stairs, down a short corridor, and directs me through a door on my right.

I smile. Offices don’t change much from place to place. There is a desk covered with parchment and what looks like a quill and ink set. There is a rather comfortable looking armchair behind that. There are a couple of high-backed wooden chairs in front of it. There are shelves with books and scrolls, most of which are in disarray. There is an assortment of musical instruments on stands or hung on pegs against the far wall.

I hear from behind me, “Take a seat lass. I’ll let our friend know ye’re here.”

I incline my head, pull out one of the chairs in front of the desk, and move it so my back is to the wall.

Zoltan shakes his head and shuts the door behind him.

***

When he returns, he remains in front of the door.

I stand and courtesy to the outrageous and foppish man before me. “Nicole at your service, _sir_.”

He takes my right hand in his and kisses my knuckles. “And you may call me Dandelion, my _exquisite_ beauty.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll take drenched _exquisitely_ , sir.”

He smiles as he releases my hand. He puts his hands on his hips and looks me up and down. “ _You_ are very much what has been described to me, but those do _not_ do you _justice_ my lady.”

“Thank you, Dandelion.”

He smiles and winks at me as he takes a seat on the other side of the desk.

Zoltan takes a few steps forward and extends a towel to me. I nod, take the towel, retake my seat, dry off what I can, and wrap my hair.

Zoltan and Dandelion exchange a look I can’t decipher.

_Balls._

I ask _the_ question: “Do we know if he is still in Novigrad?”

Dandelion steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “Yes.”

“Do we know where?”

He leans back and crosses his legs, “All in due time my dear.”

_What the fuck?_

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am fearful our delay has—”

Zoltan breaks in, “—how do we know _you_ are _you_ , lass?”

I frown. “More than one person has remarked on my accent and speech patterns on our journey here, Zoltan.”

He shrugs. “They are _unusual_ , aye, but _not_ out of the realm of possibility.”

I pull my silver medallion out from its hiding place. “I met you at a _specific_ _pass_ and I have ridden with you for _how long_ , Zoltan?”

Dandelion looks from Zoltan back to me and leans forward in his chair. “It is a dangerous time to be either foreign or _not_ human, lass.”

_The burned corpses decorating the bridge._

“So I have gathered, _sir_.”

They exchange another look.

I sigh and decide to try another tack. “Zoltan, I held my own. You’ve _seen_ me fight. “

“And it’s right impressive lass.”

“If I _weren’t_ me, could I have rendered aid through so much hostile territory?”

“There are those who can inherit the abilities of those they imitate for a time, lass.”

“ _For that long?_ ”

_Fuck._

_Wait_.

 _What was that creature called_?

I look at both and beam a smile. “Problem _solved_.” I motion over to what looks to me like a mandolin hanging from a set of pegs on the opposite wall. “If I might have the use of that instrument, Dandelion?”

_Reluctance._

“You are one of a _handful_ of people who know of my presence here and only our absent mutuals have heard me play.”

“She’s got us there, Julian.”

The foppish man drums his fingers on the desk.

“ _Dandelion,_ please allow me to check the instrument’s tuning then?”

He is agape. “But my instruments are _always_ in tune!”

“You know as well as I do, that you _always_ double check your instrument before you perform.”

The two males go quiet and blink… And then they burst out laughing.

Dandelion removes a kerchief from inside his doublet and blots his eyes. Zoltan remembers himself and tries to cover his remaining chuckles with some polite coughing.

“Forgive my ignorance, _sirs_ , but the length of your—”

Both men start snickering again.

“— _laughter_ baffles me. Do men-at-arms _not_ make ribald jests?”

Zoltan is the first to recover. “Soldiers, yes. Women...”

_The confusion must be showing on my face._

“If yer an ‘honest’ one, ye might crack wise about such, just _not_ in mixed company.”

I shake my head. “Do my arms mark me as less ‘honest’ than the next woman, Zoltan?”

He weighs this and shoots a look a Dandelion. “That depends upon where ye’re from, o’ course, but _most_ women in this part o’ The Continent do not enlist.”

I blow out a breath and lean back in my chair. “I wasn’t sure if those guards wanted to fuck me _or_ fight me, first.”

Zoltan snorts. Dandelion looks as though he can’t decide if he should laugh or be offended.

_Christ._

I motion to the mandolin-like instrument behind Dandelion again. “Please?”

He nods, stands, walks, over and takes the instrument down from its pegs. He cradles it in both hands as he extends it out to me.

I brace myself and remove my gloves.

_Jesus, I can see the scurrying patterns of the rats in the cellar._

“My lady, are you alright?”

I take the instrument from him and retake my seat. I loosen the ties at my sleeve with my teeth, allow it to fall down to my elbow, and raise my wrist, palm facing me.

Both men are looking from the bluish metal of my bracelets to the welts on my skin. Both men are quick to sober up _and go silent_.

I sigh. The strings are wound gut and by the feel and the smell, the metal is silver. The grain of the wood is dense, but I don’t know enough about the plant life here to map it against what I know. When I first run my fingers across each of the strings, I am greeted by bright and deep tones… And I can tell they’re tuned down for a male vocal accompaniment.

I smile and use harmonics to tune it up a bit for my range and go through some warmup exercises. When I am more familiar with the tones and action, I silence the strings and look over at Dandelion. “How would you like to proceed, sir?”

He is leaning back in his chair with chin in hand. “Would you honor us with the pleasure of a song, Nicole?”

“But of course.” I place my hands on the strings.

“On our stage?”

I blink. I blink a lot.

_Fuuuuuck._

“May I change first?”

He shakes his head.

“So you want me to perform for you, soaking wet and in full armor, with my hair wrapped?”

He nods.

“Won’t that be rather odd?”

He shrugs.

“Um… How will you introduce me then, _sir_?”

“You are our _friend_ from Zerrikania, _aye_?”

“Aye.”

“My audience will be as curious as I am to hear what you have in store for us, my lady.”

I set the instrument in my lap, pull up my sleeve, and double check that it is tied and remaining in place at my wrist. Zoltan unlocks the door and motions for me to follow.

***

_The scrutiny and the mistrust nettles and scrapes across my skin._

_The band behind me is scowling and silent in equal measure._

I manage to stammer, “All thanks to Dandelion, for this opportunity to play a song from my homeland.”

_Silence. Coughing._

_The foamy distaste and animosity of spittle._

_Whispers are edged barbs slicing through the air and pulsing all around me._

I clear my throat. “The song I am about to play is about a mythical battle. I hope you enjoy it.”

_A number of folks are taking this time to relieve themselves or wander to other areas of the inn._

I tap out the tempo with my foot and I come in softly, setting the initial mood of the song.

_The Queen of Light. The Prince of Peace._

_Apples ripening and rotting._

_Tyrants._

I’m singing a couple of different octaves.

_The thunder of cavalry._

_The cries and devastation of war._

_The desire for balance and the desire to return swords to plowshares._

I am singing and holding more varied sustains. I mimic harmonizing without a second voice—and without a pedal.

_What has happened in this place that common folk are devastated and afeared?_

_Why do pyres burn and who are the many?_

_Why the gallows pole and who are the guilty?_

_When will the dark and the smoke and the bloat depart?_

_When will the songs bring back the morning lark?_

During the solo and bridge, a tall blond woman approaches Dandelion and stands next to him; her bright and contrasting clothing marks her as some sort of mummer or barker. The pair look from me to each other, whispering behind hands.

_Balls._

For the hell of it, I throw in a few embellishments and bass to some of the sustains. I build to the ending and hit the notes at the top end of my range.

I make an abrupt halt after a forty-count.

_Surprise._

_Interest._

_Enjoyment._

_Curiosity._

A small group of off-duty guards are quick to applause. Some of the common folk follow suit along with the musicians behind me. And before I know it, those on the ground floor are clapping, whistling, hollering, and asking for more.

I look over at Dandelion and the woman beside him. I mouth, “What now?”

He confers a moment with her and then comes over. He leans in and whispers. “Can you play one more?”

I shrug. “I don’t know many songs with this instrument. Do you have anything that has four to six strings with a different sound? How do you say, like a psaltery or a citole?”

He nods and hurries back to the woman and has a brief word with her.

_Admiration. Respect. Affection. Trust._

She vanishes behind the curtain and is quick to reemerge and approach with something that maps to my understanding of a citole. I incline my head and make the trade.

I retake my seat and go about tuning the strings as the audience settles down.

 _Natural strings_.

 _Fuck_.

“I thank you for your indulgence and appreciation. You are a generous people.”

I double-check the action and tuning one last time before I silence the strings.

“This next song I dedicate to my lost lover and is of a different style. Please forgive me if my voice and hands get caught up in the moment.”

I give Dandelion and his companion a quick glance. He nods.

“This song is about the seasons of love.”

_And like any Spring, uncertain and full of promise._

It is difficult for me to keep the sorrow out of my voice and losing the melody is a near thing.

_Turbulent and brimming by turns._

I consider extending the instrumental part between the first and second verses. I look out over the audience.

_Whispers of enjoyment._

_Fondness. Remembering._

I let the instrument voice the pain caught in my throat and I pour all of my longing and wistfulness into the second and third verses.

_I curse the gloom._

_I curse how I left it._

_I curse what had to happen._

I pour all of my heartache into the song at its crescendo.

_I’m afraid it is too late for me to tell you how much I love you._

_We rode through Hell together._

_I let you down._

_Gods damn it._

_Gods fucking damn it all._

I end the song, stand, take my bow, and make a quick exit.

***

_I am dizzy and I want to puke my guts out._

I untie my sleeves and let them fall to my elbows again. I move my bracelets to a different part of my wrists to give the new welts a break.

I bury my face in my hands.

 _Concern. Curiosity. Appreciation. Recognition_.

A delicate set of footsteps closes the door and pulls out the chair next to me. I pull myself together, wipe my eyes on my sleeve, and manage a polite smile.

Dandelion’s companion is poised and graceful.

I clear my throat and incline my head. “My name is Nicole. May I know the name of the one who sits with me?”

She inclines her head in return. “I am known as Callonetta”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Callonetta, and I thank you for passing me the instrument.”

“It is my pleasure, Nicole.”

“I hope my _arrangements_ did not embarrass or damage the reputation of this house?”

She considers this a moment. “Your style and your multi-layered and resolving melodies are _unusual_ , my lady.”

“The songs of my homeland are… Different from those here and I am uncertain if the arrangements I am used to…”

She raises an eyebrow.

 _These speech patterns are killing me, smalls_.

I clear my throat. “How may I serve you, Callonetta?”

“I am content to abide with you while our hosts busy themselves with some arrangements.”

_Shit._

_My swords are who knows where. My long bow and saddlebags are at the end of a long walk between here and a squad of hostile guards._

_I do not know my way around these war-torn lands._

_I only have so many bullets._

_She is unarmed and she doesn’t have the overt ozone scent of magic._

“May I inquire—?”

“—all in due course, my lady.”

_Double shit._

“The message… Did it not?”

“It reached us, _aye_.” She nods. “You are also not the first to arrive and claim the identity.”

My eyes go wide.

She continues, “By bedding any curly-headed brown hair, who is as tall as a man, between Kovir and the Pontar Valley—”

“—and he tips _extra_ if the woman will take the name… _Your_ name, lassie.”

Dandelion takes his seat on the other side of the desk and Zoltan retakes his position by the door, his hand rests on the haft of his hammer.

I look from one man to the other, blinking. “ _Wow._ I—”

“—was not brought to the city to put the man in a chastity belt, _lass_.”

“Is it odd that the thought of me trying _amuses_ me _and_ that I think it would be _fun_ , Zoltan?”

He removes his hand from his hammer and gives me a wicked grin. “You’re really her.”

“Well, _no shit_.”

Dandelion nods his head. “Neither Callonetta nor I can think of anyone of our acquaintance who would arrange the songs as you did.”

Callonetta’s accent changes as she says, “You are _awkward_ with our speech.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Zoltan winks. “Yer foul mouth and _where it goes…_.”

Dandelion holds up his hand for a moment until the band starts its next song. He reaches for a scroll case at his belt. He pulls out a piece of parchment and unrolls this on top of his desk.

 _The likeness is uncanny_.

_I know the artist._

_No one has drawn me like that before… And no one has since._

I stifle a sob.

Dandelion rolls this back up and puts it away. He leans to the side and picks up something behind his desk. When he straightens, he holds my acoustic guitar case out to me.

_How?_

_Did she?_

I take the case from him, hold it close to my chest, and burst into tears.

***

I struggle to read the letters on the sign outside of this building near the docks, and I don’t understand the meaning of the pictures. I look to Zoltan and ask, “Is this where we need to be?”

He has a hard time meeting my eyes. “Aye, lass.”

“ _Zoltan.”_

He runs his hand over his mohawk and looks away. _“_ ’Tis a brothel, milady. _”_

_Oh._

“I’m flattered you’re worried about my delicate sensibilities.”

He shakes his head and then looks up at the sky.

“If it’s any consolation, this isn’t the first time I have had to escort a man out of one.”

He continues to look up at the sky.

“ _Come on_ , Zoltan. You’re acting as though we’re about to battle one of your sewer monsters unarmed.”

He shakes his head, spits on the ground, and goes back to looking up at the sky.

“I am a soldier, _sir_ , and I am _not_ without training.”

He sighs and looks at me, “ _He’s_ had more.”

“I have had _different_ —”

“—he’s been at it _longer_.”

“I’m _older_ than I look.”

“Ye need to work on your pep talks, _lass_.”

“If you’re looking for poetry outside of song, I’m not your gal _._ ”

“So I’ve noticed.”

I smile. “I’ve beaten him in unarmed combat, should it come to _that_.”

He pauses a moment before he looks me up and down. “I’d spend good coin to see _that._ ”

“Well, if things are as bad as…”

He crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Just try not to destroy the place, lass?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

***

The bouncers go on alert as we enter: My medallion, my swords and armor, and the shock of my gender; his dwarven stature, his hammer, and the gold on his hands. The patrons and the performers evaluate us; the former to assess the threat and the latter to assess our ability to pay.

We make our way to the bar on the ground floor. I remain standing and Zoltan hops up on a barstool. He flags down the bartender and gives a phrase in a language I do not understand. The bartender walks to the end of the bar and has a word with an older and curvy redhead with brightly colored lips and cheeks. She is quick to approach and her smile is broad and welcoming. “Welcome back, my friends! I am so glad you have returned. I understand you would like your usual room on the third floor?”

I glance at Zoltan who ignores me and orders a pint of Dwarvish stout.

_Bastard._

I just nod.

“Excellent, milady.” She indicates the stairs to our left. “If you will follow me to the changing area? I have arranged for a new set of costumes for you.”

Again, I just nod.

She beckons me to follow, sashaying to the landing. When I look back, Zoltan lifts his mug and blows me a kiss.

I wink, catch it, and blow one back.

He covers his chuckle by taking another swallow of his beer.

***

Madam stops me on the landing between the second and third floors. “He is with a new girl, milady, and I do not allow fighting or bloodletting in my establishment.”

I nod. “I have no quarrel with your girl, ma’am.”

“See to it she is unharmed or out of the way.”

“I do not plan to interfere with your business.”

“Please keep it—”

I hold up my hand, “—I am here to have a conversation, _nothing_ more.”

She balks. “ _Nothing?_ ”

 _Balls_.

“That depends upon _him_. _You_ will be paid either way.”

“This is not what I was told!”

I keep my face neutral. “ _Madam_ , I will abide by your wishes and while _I_ can be _persuasive_ , _your_ guest can be _quite stubborn_.”

She evaluates me and clicks her tongue. “Well, there be no accounting for taste.”

***

The stench slaps me in the face when I enter the room: The acrid stink of a long unwashed body twisted among _filthier_ sheets. Bottles scattered across the floor, some containing liquid I don’t want to think too much about. Flies crawling across pewter plates with forgotten or half eaten food. Bed pans, which haven’t been emptied and which contain all manner of body waste. The sweet scent of how certain narcotics smell when they are cooked over flame. Hollow reeds next to a platter with lines of a whitish powder.

The pair do not hear me enter. The new girl is sucking him off—or attempting to. The man on the bed has his eyes closed and doesn’t seem to be aware of _anything_ in the room.

I take a space opposite the bed, lean up against the wall, cross my arms, and prop my foot up while I watch and wait. I time my interruption—and clear my throat. There is a popping sound, and she switches from mouth to hand as she turns to me.

 _I don’t know what_ that _is in front of me, but it isn’t human, and her true form is not that of a maiden._

“My sweet, young, _thing_ , Madam requests your presence downstairs.”

“But I have a quarter hour yet and he is not finished!”

“ _He is_ and _so are you_.”

She leaps off the narrow bed at me but pulls up short when she sees the medallion hanging from my neck and the pair of swords strapped to my back. Her goat-slitted eyes go wide.

“My quarrel is not with you. Take this boon and don’t let me see you ever again.”

She bobs her head and scurries out of the room. I pull the door closed behind her and I retake my position against the wall.

The man on the bed has not stirred through any of this.

I _step to_ the window and open it; a blast of cold air disturbs the flies.

I _step away_ and retake my position against the wall for a third time.

The man on the bed rouses and reaches over to the tray. He snorts a line, puts it back, flops his body back on the bed, and turns his head in my general direction. “Who the fuck are you and what did you do with the girl?”

“ _That_ wasn’t a girl and Madam required her elsewhere.”

“Then bring me another one.”

“No, sir.”

“I paid for the week. Bring me another or _fuck off_.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He narrows his golden-brown eyes and rakes his hand through his filthy and disheveled brown hair. He flops over and grabs one of the bottles and throws it. “ _Get the fuck out of my room!_ ”

It plinks near the end of the bed and rolls to the floor.

I chuckle. “And you intend to get me out _how_?”

He growls. “Do you know _who_ I am? Do you know _what_ I am?”

“Do _I_ look particularly worried?”

He blinks and tries to focus. He inhales. “I can’t tell what you are.”

“What I am and what I am _to you_ , depends upon—”

He gathers himself and attempts to lunge at me. He falls forward on his hands and collapses on the bed.

“Tisk tisk. Naughty boy.”

He raises his head and looks in my direction again, “You sound female.”

“That I am.”

His smile is slow and his teeth are even. “You’re taller than the girl. I enjoy tall women.”

“I know.”

“Come closer. I would know if you are a brown hair.”

“That I am.”

He manages to prop himself up against the adjacent wall. “Then come over here and show me what you can do.”

I laugh. “I’ll pass.”

He shakes his head. “I _told_ you, I paid for the week. _Now fuck me or get the fuck out_.”

“ _Nope_.”

Again, he gathers himself and again he falls forward, only this time, his head and an arm hang off the side near the head of the bed.

I laugh. “You’re pathetic. I could kill you eight different ways from the rest day before you could _stand_.”

“What’s stopping you, _asshole_?”

“I was _your_ asshole, _once_.”

He turns his head and looks in my direction before he flop-crawls back to the tray and does another line.

“Fuck, man. Where is your pride? Where is your self-respect? Where is the _man_ who slays _monsters_?”

He rolls on his back and grabs his cock. “I have your _monster_ right here.”

“Looks more like a _worm_ to me.” I scoff. “You can’t even _rise_ to greet a long-lost friend and _you_ think you can force _me_ to leave before—”

He growls, picks up a pewter plate and flicks it at me. It goes wide and hits the wall beside the door, clattering to the floor.

“You missed, you absolute shit gibbon.”

“I’ve _killed_ for less!”

“There was a time you could hit a field mouse at twenty paces in the dark of night and now, you can’t hit a tall woman at what… Six? Seven? In _candlelight?_ ” I shake my head and sigh. “I have no intention of leaving—or dying—until I am ready.”

He does a sequence of hand gestures. “I can _make_ you ready.”

“Nice try. I am resistant to such things or are you too addled to remember?”

He squints and inhales again. “ _You… Bitch!_ ”

I yawn. “ _First_ , I’m an asshole and _now_ I’m a bitch. At least _I’m_ creative with my insults.”

“ _Who the fuck are you?_ ”

“I am your friend from Zerrikania.”

“I don’t have any _friends_ from _Zerrikania._ ”

“Are you _certain_?”

He scowls and inhales again. He manages to flop over and get up on all fours, facing me. “ _What is your fucking name?_ ”

“That is the sixty-four thousand… Or should I say _crown_ , question—”

“—wait…”

I stop leaning against the wall. “I’ve had _enough_. If you can manage to get out of _that_ bed and if your desire for self-destruction hasn’t destroyed whatever wits you have left, ask around.”

I _step to_ , take a dagger from my boot, attach a piece of parchment to the tip, and stab it into the wall beside his head.

I _step away_ so I stand at the door, with my hand on the latch. “I will not be here long. If you do not contact what friends you _do_ have in the city by the time I depart, I’ll know my journey will be all for naught.” I pause and wipe another tear from my eye. “What do they say in this city? May the Eternal Fire be with you, Eskel, when I cannot.”

I do not wait for his response.

***

I continue to keep the hood of my cloak close around my face. A dwarf and a weeping human woman walking the streets late at night might draw the concern of a guard. And said guard might not be tolerant of either a dwarf or a _foreign_ woman. And said guard may not be sober and may not be sober with _other_ guards. And if it isn’t the guards, it might be a group of drunken sods seeking sport. And if not a group of drunken sods then, a group of cut throats or bandits looking for sport _and_ coin. And if it isn’t the monsters that lurk in human hearts, it’s the ones that lurk in the waterways and nest in the sewers.

I gulp the air around me.

_I cannot._

“Nicole?”

_Not now!_

I close my eyes. This does nothing.

 _I am_ afraid _._ My hands and wrists burn inside my gloves.

_Fuck!_

_Not like this!_

The world is closing in and I sag against the nearest wall.

“Lassie?”

I hold up a finger. “A moment. Please, Zoltan.”

My gorge rises.

_Where is the air?_

_I need air!_

“Bend down, so I can take a look at ye.”

I oblige the dwarf.

He pushes my hood aside an inch. “Ye’re pale and sweating.”

_Bursts of light!_

I nod.

_Pain!_

_Burning alive!_

He squints his eyes and tilts his head. “We can go back.”

I shake my head. “Just need a few moments…”

“ _Nicole_. You are in nae condition to…”

I shake my head.

_The world manages not to flip._

I inhale and the area reorders itself. “No immediate threat. We are safe for a time.”

He gives me the side eye. “As you say, Nicole.”

I straighten.

_The world doesn’t go black or white or starry._

***

Zoltan is standing by the office door again, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Dandelion is seated behind his desk, leaning forward, and with his chin resting atop folded hands.

I wipe my eyes with another borrowed kerchief. “You and our mutual friends have my eternal thanks. I can rest easier now.”

“Lassie, while I’m disappointed a fight didna break out…”

“Zoltan!” Dandelion jerks back in shock.

I scoff. “Had he been in _any_ condition to fight… I would have thrown him out the window after what I saw.”

“Ye were a bit rank when…”

“He was so strung out, he couldn’t even hit me with a plate or a bottle across a room and the girl he was with… Wasn’t.”

This time, Zoltan jerks back in shock. Dandelion blows out a low whistle.

I clear my throat. “He didn’t have enough _juice._ ”

The males in the room are dumbstruck. A song ends and another begins before Zoltan clears his throat and asks, “Ye alright, lassie?”

My laughter is low and quiet and bitter. “Nope. Not in the least, _sir_. Wish in one and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.”

Zoltan runs his hand over his mohawk. “Under other circumstances, I might find that funny.”

“ _So might I_ , if it wasn’t _our_ circus involving _our_ monkey.”

Dandelion leans forward in his chair and finds his voice. “We need to get our monkey to our circus.”

“You didn’t see that _shit show_ , Dandelion. If he wasn’t…” I take a steadying breath, “He’d have died by infection or overdose by now.”

“It couldn’t have—”

“—he couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t crawl more than a few feet. What part of _not_ hitting me with thrown objects doesn’t make sense?”

_I am so sorry, my love._

_Had I known…_

_God, had I known…_

_Could I have taken a different path?_

_Jesus._

“Lassie. I heard shouting as we were leaving.”

I _glare_ at Zoltan. “We were leaving a _busy brothel_ , _sir_.”

“ _Nay_. This was something _different_.”

“It is easier for me to believe _that_ was just the ravings of a madman and that he is already lost.”

Dandelion takes my hand in his. “Nicole…”

I shake my head. “Dandelion, if you want to hold out hope in that romantic heart of yours, I am happy to give you whatever I have left for you to hold for me.”

I pull my hand away, I stand up, and courtesy. “I will honor our arrangement, sir. Maybe others will find joy in what I will play for them when I can’t find _mine_ with two hands right now.”

***

The maid hands me the key as she departs, and I lock the door behind her.

I am overwhelmed by the meaning of _this_ gesture.

My rooms are on the top floor, I have a view of this quarter of the city, I have a balcony on two sides, and I have windows on three.

The room is divided by heavy wooden screens into a rest area, a dressing area, and an area to entertain. The candles have been trimmed and their holders have been polished, there are fresh linens and a velvet coverlet on the bed, there is a small and round table with a few chairs and a bench with my guitar case on a stand next to it. There is a fresh basin and pitcher of water in a wooden stand, and on a folding table, my saddlebags are having an airing.

_This is the first time since my arrival I feel welcomed._

As the temple bells chime the hour, I walk behind one of the panels and strip out of my armor and hang it up on a rack; the set I was given can be removed without a second person. My linens and small clothes follow. I take a rough cloth to my skin and give myself a good scrub.

I move my bracelets, I cover my hands with my gloves, I crawl into the bed, and I pull the covers over my head.

***

**I.**

I wake up knowing what I will play tonight.

I remove my gloves and pour water into the washbasin. I check the fresh wounds on my wrists, move my bracelets, and attend to both the old and the new.

I wash my face and hands.

I pour out a measure of water in a cup and rinse out my mouth.

I wrap my hands and wrists in the special cloth I was given when not wearing my gloves.

I peek outside a window and I check the position of their sun.

I take a deep breath and scent the air; it will be a warm day with breezes coming in from the north and west.

I remove my lighter Zerrikanian garb from my bags and I dress.

I pull the curtains aside and take a seat among the sunbeams while I oil my scalp and pull my hair back from my face with a woven leather circlet.

I check myself in the polished silver.

 _There is no way I can pretend to be anything else here_.

I line my eyes with paste from coal powder and wax and apply a little lip-gloss I made from wax, oils, and vermilion pigment.

I strap both swords to my back and hide my gun and its holster among my saddlebags.

***

I eat an apple and explore the city. I wear colors and ornamentation, which signal that I am accomplished in my trade. I wear the medallion and swords of my profession without shame.

However, mothers grab their children upon my approach and other children hide their faces in their mother’s skirts. The local high lords and ladies look upon me with equal parts curiosity and disdain. The Priests of Eternal Fire regard me with scorn and it is a rare one who bothers to bless me when I pass. The guards leer at me and are quick to promise horrible things should I cause them any trouble. The beggars leave me alone. I catch two pickpockets and one cutpurse before they can get close enough to my belt. To these, I make it known that I do not begrudge them their business, flip them a coin, and offer my sword arm and talents _for a price_.

The temple bells chime sext when I make the central market. I find a bank and inquire about conversion rates and interest on accounts. I go to each of the notice boards there and read announcements about my _exclusive_ Zerrikanian performance tonight. I inquire after the services at the smithy. I inquire at the bookseller after language primers and tomes containing the local history. I buy a beer and a quarter chicken at one of the stalls.

Something burns that isn’t my food. I look down and there is steam coming from my wrists.

_God damn it._

I climb a wall and take a seat just this side of the roof line and unwind the fabric from my wrists.

_Second degree burns and I risk bursting the blisters if I move my bracelets._

I pour a little beer over each wrist, shake them off and re-wrap them. I chug what is left in the bottle to dull the pain; the rest of my chicken is rubbery ash in my mouth.

_I need to cut my wandering short._

I climb down a rain spout and make my way north and east. I find _the_ loan shark of that quarter who pretends not to understand my accent. I find a barber, but he makes it clear he wouldn’t know what to do with _my kind_ of hair if he was inclined to serve me. I find the hospital and I have to stop myself from going in to get my burns treated.

I walk the bridge named in honor of a man who was elevated for saving the city. The runners go to and from the civic center with scrolls and books. I make my way to The Temple and while my reception is chilly, they allow me entry because I offer coin. They decide not to usher me out before I finish my prayers.

I wander down a set of winding stairs in the Noble’s Quarter to the waterfront. I do a little civic duty and destroy some of the local pests.

When the temple bells chime nones, I find myself near _that_ brothel and I… Just… _Cannot_.

I _pull_ in. My wrists burn. I don’t even have to _push_ that hard to _step away_ , reemerging from the shadows along the breakwater.

I walk back to the docks and make some coin betting on a number of fistfights run by tattooed and stout men. These look from me to my swords and take in my stature; some wink and some nod. I am encouraged—and by encouraged, I mean pushed into the middle of the ring—to participate. I dodge a couple of jabs and start circling. I taunt my opponent. I taunt those ringside.

Tempers flare. I make _more_ coin. I bow out when the betting slows.

I tour the low market and purchase some tasty smoked fish and another beer. I find a second smithy and inquire about their services. I catch a Punch & Judy show. I price out laundry and tailoring services.

_Why?_

_What am I thinking?_

_I won’t be here for much longer._

***

I review this evening’s play list in my mind while I tune my guitar at the inn’s bar. I sip an amber ale and nibble on some cheese while I figure out how I will tailor the songs to local tastes.

Someone clears their throat a few paces away; Zoltan is gripping the bridge of his nose and is shaking his head. “Nicole, please tell me ye didna—” he waves his other hand at what I’m wearing.

I look down. “All of the important parts are covered. Did I miss a spot of blood somewhere?”

He runs his hand over his mohawk and looks up at the ceiling.

“I take it that’s a no on missing a spot.”

He remains looking at the ceiling. “Please tell me ye didn’t… Kill anything important?”

I shrug. “Made some coin doing some civic duty along the waterfront, Zoltan.”

Again, he waves at what I’m wearing.

“Zoltan, you’ve seen me wear this part of my armor.”

“Yer _legs_ are _bare._ ”

“It’s warm today and I have my boots on.”

“A _stiff_ wind…”

There is a high-pitched squeal behind Zoltan. Dandelion is wide-eyed and both of his hands are covering the lower part of his face.

“Julian…” He warns.

The later arriving man puts his hands on his hips. “Were you seen out like _that_ , Nicole?”

I stand and twirl. I plop back on the stool. “Did either of you see anything other than—”

“—half yer arse?”

_Balls._

I move a set of tassets aside. “ _Short pants_ , sirs.”

Dandelion frowns. “Nicole, I run an inn, not a…”

“Would you feel better if I put on my—”

Without skipping a beat, both men say, “ _Yes_.”

I shake my head, stand, _step to_ my room, put my hosen on, and _step back_ to my seat at the bar. “ _Better?_ ”

Both men are staring at me, wide eyed.

I cross my arms. “ _What?_ ”

Dandelion is the first to recover. “You may want to be more cautious with your movements, Nicole.”

“I just _stepped_ upstairs to…” And then I feel it, the burning on my palms and wrists. I look down at the steam coming up from them and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.

I close my eyes. “May I ask either one of you to retrieve a basin of water and a ball of soap, please?”

I hear Zoltan make haste away.

After a dozen heartbeats I hear, “How fairs The Lodge?”

“I-I don’t know what that is, Dandelion.”

 _Surprise_.

“I thought you were acquainted with them?”

I shake my head. “I can’t really answer that.”

I hear and smell him take a step closer. “The items you wear on your hands—”

“—were provided to me and I was told not to thank them.”

 _Contemplation_.

I hear a lighter approach and the settling of the basin on the waxed hardwood of the bar. I smell water and the fatty alkaline of laundry soap. “Thank you, Callonetta.”

A pause. “My pleasure, Nicole.”

The chill of the water soothes the worst of the stinging and I open my eyes to assess the damage: My fingers are pink and motion is intact, although opposing my fingers and thumb feels a little stiff. The worst of the pain is on the palms of my hands and along my wrists. I reach over, crumble a little of the soap into the basin, and I start unwinding the wraps.

_Curiosity and concern play in the air and dance along my skin._

_Dandelion and Callonetta wear each other’s scents._

_Zoltan approaches and the scarring in his diaphragm is troubling him._

_The chamber maids and scullery are resting in their common room near the kitchens._

I grit my teeth while I clean the burns. “Dandelion, on the scale of one to ten, with one not enjoying gossip at all and with ten being absolutely shameless about it…”

He chuckles. “ _Fifteen_ , my lady. _Absolutely_ _shameless_. I hire them for those qualities.”

“Have they finished their errands for the day?”

_Confusion._

Dandelion _looks_ at me. “There may be some last-minute ones, my lady?”

Callonetta looks from him, to me, and back.

“I can stand as they enter and greet them.”

Zoltan finishes pouring himself an ale and takes a large swig from his mug. “Ye’ll give ‘em a right fright, lass.”

I undo the clasp of my medallion and I tuck it into my belt pouch. “Less scary?”

He wipes the foam from his beard, “By a hair. _Maybe_.”

I manage not to roll my eyes. “Dandelion, I can remain seated and occupy myself with my guitar while you do?”

Callonetta repeats the look from him to me. “What are you about, my lady?”

“Let’s give them _more_ to gossip about.” I smile.

_Curiosity._

“Have one of the chamber maids fetch me the small silk pouch I have tucked among my small clothes and when they _run_ back to the servant’s common area, wait a few minutes and call _everyone_ up.”

Callonetta is the first to catch on and whispers a quick word to Dandelion. Dandelion catches on, smiles, and walks behind the bar to pull a bell cord. Both are quick to depart.

Zoltan takes another swallow of stout. “Yer a _canny_ lass.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m _still_ terrible at Gwent.”

He laughs.

***

My hands tremble when I slip the ring out of its pouch and onto my left ring finger. It is a simple and elegant piece with a bezel-set cabochon gem.

_He cradles my hand in his; he is gentle as he pushes the ring up the length of my finger. He smiles as he runs his thumb across my knuckles._

_Joy. Unaltered and free._

_I throw my arms around his neck and I shower him with kisses. He laughs and holds me tight._

_I am at peace. I am home. I am relieved. I am comforted._

_My own joy overflows._

I dab my eyes at the memory of a different place and time.

Zoltan _stares_ at my hand as he finishes his ale. He looks from me, to the ring, and back. He _blushes_. “Lass… May I look at the craftsmanship?”

I take the ring off and push it toward him on the bar. He removes his own kerchief from his belt pouch, unfolds it, places it on the bar, and sets the ring in the middle of it. He also pulls out what looks like some sort of jeweler’s loupe from a different belt pouch and he holds this up to his eye, while rotating the cloth on the bar. He furrows his brow and his whistle is low. “I don’t recognize the tool marks…” He catches himself and he switches to the stone.

I concentrate on sipping my ale.

 _Not_ dropping his loupe is a near thing. “Where did _you_ source the star ruby?”

“ _I_ didn’t source it.”

He tucks his loupe back in his belt pouch. “ _Who_ then?”

“The ring was a _gift_ , Zoltan.”

_I can’t name the things rolling off the dwarf._

I pick up the ring and put it back on my finger. Again, Zoltan looks from me, to the ring, and back. A few heartbeats go by before he rocks back on his stool and bellows, “ _Julian!_ ”

Dandelion breaks off his conversation with an older and well-dressed gentleman. “What are your hollering about _this_ time?”

Zoltan points at my hand. “ _Look at that_.”

Dandelion repeats the same look at me, look at my ring, look back at me motion.

“We want the word of her to spread, _aye_? We want our plan to work, _aye_?”

 _Realization_.

Dandelion bobs his head. “My lady, will you allow me to sketch your likeness—and that of your jewelry—for the next set of announcements?”

I shrug. “If it—”

“—would please me if you would do me the honor of _taking the stairs_ and changing into something less… _Adversarial_.”

***

My dress is a fine green linen, with embroidery at the cuffs, neck, and hem. My vest is a fitted damask affair in shades of green and blue. The colors mark me as an artisan of means and bring out the green in my eyes. The style of dress allows me freedom of motion and modesty, and do not require the assistance of another to dress.

I take the time to untwist my hair and let it fall in s-curls to my waist and I freshen the kohl around my eyes to exaggerate their shape. I pinch my cheeks to bring color to them and apply a little bit more of my lip rouge.

I check the daggers in my boots, review my reflection in the mirror, square my shoulders, pick up my guitar case, and head back down.

_Their regard marches along my skin._

_In other places, I would be more familiar with the intent._

I retake my seat at the bar and refill my ale.

“My lady?”

It is all I can do not to be snappish. My eyebrow betrays me.

Dandelion chuckles. “Please join me over here, where the light is better.”

I set my ale down and stand. I take a step towards him and he holds up his hand. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

_Oh._

I retrieve my guitar from its case and have a seat on a stool near the front window.

Dandelion tilts his head and taps his finger against his chin. “I heard Griffins were more familiar with court than others of our ken, but how do I capture _you_?”

I shrug and say, “How about I play something instrumental from my homeland while you figure it out?”

He smiles. “ _Perfection_ , my lady.”

I check the tuning and I play _Asturias_.

The silence when I finish the song is almost welcome.

The well-dressed older gentleman is agape before he turns heel and exits through the curtain leading to the back of the house.

Zoltan, Dandelion, Callonetta, and a group of servants just stop and _stare_.

_Christ._

_Fuck ‘em._

I play a flamenco arrangement of a 12/8 metal-to-me song, and I am _abrupt_ when I wrap it up. I clear my throat. “Do you have what you need, Dandelion?”

From back by the bar, Zoltan asks, “What part of Zerrikania did ye say ye were from, lass?”

“Here and there, _sir_.”

The dwarf harrumphs and takes a long drink from his tankard.

Dandelion catches my eye. “I have what I need _for now_ , my lady.”

***

 _Curiosity_. _Skepticism. Scorn. Buzz._

_The first floor is nearly full._

_There is a small crowd gathering outside, trying to catch glimpses through the windows._

I peek through the curtain, leading to the main room and I notice there are a few extra bouncers and servers on duty tonight.

I bend over at the waist and I concentrate on getting as much air into my body as possible.

 _I_ _can’t take much more of the constant fucking burns._

I visualize windscreens; I visualize those on the back windows and door of my Mimaw’s home. I think about happier times on the bayou and warm spring days, with the frogs singing in the rain from the gulf or down from Lake Pontchartrain. I think about the smell of ozone and the static anticipation of distant thunder. I think about the flicker of an oil lamp and the slow heat of the wood stove that is always going, the camp kettle always full of chicory and coffee, and a small pan of sticky buns in the warmer. I think about the call-and-response between Mimaw and me as she taught me the way of the land as the rain danced across the tin roof.

I am calmer and I am able to sequence my sensory input a little bit better.

I begin layering these clusters of windscreens. I think about the stream which runs along the back of my property and how I siphoned and filtered part of that for irrigation and drinking. I focus on holding this gently in my mind and letting what I don’t need in the moment flow through and by me.

***

I pick up the mandolin-like instrument, walk to center stage, and I make a deep courtesy to the audience. “I am Your Zerrikanian Friend and I thank you for coming tonight.” I pause and taste the air. “I would tell you my full name, but it is long and unpronounceable.”

 _Mirth_.

“I shall begin by playing a pair of songs for you this eve and both are about what happens between lovers…”

_The sharpness of wolf whistles._

I wag my finger. “Now, now. If you’re looking for _those_ kinds of songs, we _all_ know where we can go to hear _them_.”

_More chuckles and light laughter pitter-patter through the air._

“What I have for you tonight is about the lessons we all learn about love a little too late.”

 _Disappointment_.

“But do not worry, I think you will like the tempo of my arrangements.”

I start stomping my foot and when I see enough bobbing heads, I start singing a song about things I wish I knew about love when I was younger.

I change some of the lyrics around; in the fourth verse there are dancing girls and I nod at each, giving them an exaggerated wink. The dancers play along and blow me kisses and the audience cheers.

During the next verse, I start chasing after Zoltan. He plays along, and acts horrified that I’m coming on too strong. The spectacle of a tall and _foreign_ woman chasing a dwarf around the stage earns quite a few laughs.

_I don’t know how I feel about this in this context._

He removes himself and I return to the center stage, acting as though I am a surprised and jilted woman.

Laughter flows through the audience. They whistle and stomp their feet, and I have many singing the chorus by the end.

_Oh la la!_

***

I walk to the side of the stage, exchange the mandolin-like instrument for my guitar, and return center stage.

“Would our proprietor and our _trobairitz_ be willing to join me for this next song?” Dandelion and Callonetta exchange a look and oblige me.

“Now this next song has a bit of a complex rhythm.” I sling my guitar to my back, “Please allow me to show you the way of it?”

I start off slow: I stomp my foot, I clap my hands twice, I pause for half a beat. I stomp my foot, I clap my hands once, I tap each hand against each shoulder. I pause for half a beat.

I repeat the rhythm. Dandelion and Callonetta follow. There are some goofs at first, and we all laugh together in good fun, along with the audience.

When they have it, I increase the tempo until it is where it needs to be for the song. I lean in and whisper to the pair, “Can you keep this up for a few minutes.”

They nod.

I have them do about four more repeats before I come in stomping my own foot on the down beats. I pull my guitar back around and I come in a cappella with the chorus; I bring the guitar in halfway through its second repetition.

The audience starts stomping their feet; the woman with the hand drum and the boy with the tambourine behind me come in at the third repeat of the chorus. Dandelion and Callonetta harmonize with me.

I act wistful when I mention making love in the afternoon and horrified when I get to the line about finding someone taking my place with my lover. I hop a little bit when I sing about the jubilation of my lover’s return when they realize their mistake.

I play about another eight measures before I spin to look at everyone and give the signal. We all stop at the same time.

_Standing Ovation._

_Enthusiastic applause._

_Cheering and whistling._

I wave the band over to stand with us. We grab hands and we take a bow. The applause continues and we bow again; there are shouts of ‘Encore!’ among the audience.

I hold up my hand and I turn around to huddle with everyone. “I have one more in mind and with everyone’s blessing?”

Dandelion shoots a look at Callonetta and the musicians and nods, and they nod in return. We break. He and Callonetta retake their places at the side of the stage; the band does the same behind me.

_The crowd is six deep out front and crowding the street._

_It is Standing Room Only inside._

_There are a number of people who were here the night before._

_There are a number who were not._

“Can we have one more round of applause for Dandelion, Callonetta, and the band before we get to the encore?”

 _The cheerful noise nearly knocks me over_.

I blow kisses and make courtesies and wink at various and sundry members of the audience.

 _I catch a whisper of something_ outside.

The audience dies down. “Thank you. Thank you. I am humbled by your appreciation. Let it be known that the folk of your city are a generous people.”

_Pride and puffery._

I meet the eyes of those inside who were here the night before. “I came to this city because my lover… He is lost to me and I would be _jubilant_ … “

 _Curiosity_. _Pity_. _Sympathy_.

“If he were to return to me safe and sound and whole. So, I ask you my dear, new acquaintances... Maybe, and with this last song, we can work together so that he can find his way to me?”

_Smiles and mirth._

_Concern and whistling._

_Bawdy shouts and hasty discussions among small clusters of people._

“Are you willing my dear, new acquaintances?”

_Uncertainty._

I cup my ear and hold it out. “I can’t hear you.”

“ _YES!_ ”

I make an exaggerated bow and I walk around the stage nodding to everyone I can see. I raise my hands and I start clapping and stomping a rhythm; this catches fire inside and out, and once I have everyone at the same tempo, I let one of my new windscreens down and I concentrate on increasing the height and spread of the sound waves.

I ignore the burning on my wrists and concentrate on making what I’m about to do _louder_.

I start in with my guitar and I play a handful of measures before I start singing the chorus.

The entire band comes in during the second verse.

I wink and smile at Dandelion, Zoltan, and Callonetta when I get to the part about caring. When I get to the part with the lonely eyes, I do a sustain and do an exaggerated wink and point at all of the people bleeding shyness into the air.

_Ribbing. Resolve._

I’m skipping about the stage; the audience is stomping and clapping along. They’re even hooting and hollering and filling in during the bridge and solo. By the third repeat of the chorus, I have the audience _and_ the band singing with me.

_Hope. Sympathy. Longing. Remembering._

_If there is a someone watching, if there is anyone who listening, this is my fucking prayer: Bring him back to me. We’ll figure it out from there._

I sing the chorus one more time and we make one hell of a noise together. I lace my prayer and my will in and at the end, I hit a note at the top end of my range and sustain it.

I silence the strings.

_There are people as far as I can see on this side of the canal._

The applause and cheering fills the quarter.

_Holy crap. What did I just do?_

I wave Dandelion, Callonetta, and the band to come forward with me. We clasp hands and bow twice more; it takes some time for the audience to simmer down.

I check what I did with the amplitude and spread of my sound. “Well, if they didn’t hear us all the way in Oxenfurt… “

_Gratitude. Laughter._

_The whisper of what I felt earlier is still around._

_Outside and lurking near the river_.

I bring my hand up to my brow and scan the audience. “Has anyone seen my lover?”

Everyone looks around. I wait about a minute or so.

I do an exaggerated shrug and say, “Then he must not be here or there.”

_Disappointment. Hope._

“Oh well, we can try another couple songs tomorrow night, _aye_? Thank you all again for coming out tonight. And please, be kind to our city watch as you make your way home. I want to make sure the people who love you there—even it is for the evening—see you arrive safely.”

_Laughter. Playfulness._

I remain center stage and wave goodbye as folks depart or make their way to the bar. Callonetta comes over and stands next to me, also smiling, waving, and fielding the occasional inquiry. She leans in and whispers in my ear, “You may want to make your excuses. Your hands need to rest.”

I look down: My blood is starting to soak through the wraps at the wrists.

_I manage to remain upright._

_I manage not to puke._

I fold my hands and tuck them behind my guitar. I make my last bow and beat a hasty retreat through the side curtain to Dandelion’s office.

_The blood starts to seep down my forearms. I do not want to risk staining my dress._

I wedge my guitar between the wall and his desk, take a seat, and keep my hands and wrists above the level of my heart to slow the bleeding.

_I am not eating enough._

I hear the door open behind me. Zoltan places a basin of water next to me along with a number of cloth rolls.

I mouth my thanks and immediately immerse my hands, wraps and all, in the basin.

The water turns _pink_.

 _Shit_. _Shit. Shit_.

I peel and unwrap my hands and wrists. I take my bracelets off and chuck them into the basin.

_Desire. Sex._

_Discretion._

_Affection. Remembrance._

_Grief._

_Consent. Pleasure. Enjoyment._

_Climax. Ecstasy._

_Outrage._

_Curiosity. Coyness. Uncertainty. Questioning._

_Anger._

_Game. Love talk._

_Verbal contracts shaken upon._

_Swelling flesh. Contracting flesh._

_Soap. Perfume. Cologne._

_Healthy bodies. Unhealthy bodies. Younger bodies. Older bodies. Local bodies. Foreign bodies. Fertile bodies. And bodies which don’t smell like anything I know._

_New sweat. Stale sweat. Old sweat. Moldered sweat. Sweat unfamiliar to me._

_Sweat familiar to me._

_Concern and dismay._

“No, Zoltan. We do not need to call for a leech. I can handle this.”

 _Shock_.

“You can read _minds_ , Nicole?”

I shake my head and add a little soap to the water. I put my hands back into the bowl up to the wrist and I just leave them there to soak again.

Zoltan walks over so that he stands opposite me. “You did _something_ tonight during that last song.”

I nod. “I combined a set of formulas I knew from my studies and applied those with what I know of musical instruments and the properties of sound.”

He looks equal parts curious and uneasy. “What _kind_ of studies, lass?”

“Advanced scholarship in mathematics and music at the University level.”

_Skepticism._

“I know how to build clockworks and machines and was investigating how to harness the power of electric rays to run them.”

He does a slow blink and bursts out laughing again.

“I’m not kidding, Zoltan.”

He catches his breath. “Are ye sure ye aren’t part dwarf?”

I wink. “Maybe _that’s_ why mama never talked about papa.”

***

**II.**

Dandelion and Zoltan are glaring at me over crossed arms while I break my fast.

I put my hands on my hips. “Gentlemen, this is much more modest than what I was wearing yesterday.”

They keep glaring at me.

I roll my eyes and turn to Callonetta. “Help me out here?”

She shakes her head. “You are on your own, Nicole.”

I turn back to the two men. “The songs I have in mind for tonight are less _boisterous_ , so if there’s a concern I might… “

“If they’re staring at your navel, they won’t be buying my booze.”

“Or they just might buy _more_ with the hopes I’ll play a song with a faster tempo.”

“ _Nicole_.”

I look over at Zoltan. He just shakes his head.

I sigh and stand. “You win, gentlemen.” I button my coat so that my neckline ends just at the bottom of my sternum and I buckle the panels of the train at my waist, revealing the contrasting lining. This also has the effect of revealing the details of my lower skirts and the embroidery on my hosen. I hold my arms out and ask, “Satisfied?”

Both are _still_ frowning.

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

_“_ What is it _now?”_

Zoltan clears his throat. “Yer _bodice_ , lass.”

I look down at my decolletage. “Oh come, now. _This_ is no more revealing than what other women of my station wear.”

Callonetta turns to Dandelion, “She’s right, Julian.”

The man sighs. The dwarf shakes his head.

I point to the roll of parchment tucked beneath Dandelion’s arm. He remembers himself and approaches me. “I just sent these around to be posted. I am interested in your opinion, my lady.” I motion for him to hand over the proofs and I unroll them atop the bar.

The first is a medium frame: I look contemplative while I concentrate on my fingering; my ring is in the foreground and there is more expression and detail in that and my face. The second is a full frame: I look fierce and mischievous; a juxtaposition of the draping of my seated and shapely form.

I smile. “These are gorgeous, Dandelion. I thank you.”

He winks. “It was my pleasure, Nicole.”

Zoltan motions for me to hand them over and I do. He tilts his head and examines each, looks from them to me, nods, and addresses Dandelion, “How many, Julian?”

“Enough to plaster the notice boards throughout the city.”

I blink. “What do I owe you for this, _sir_?”

He waves me off. “Not a crown.”

“I prefer to pay my debts _on time_ , sir.”

He chuckles and says, “There are no such things between friends, my lady. Your coin is no good here.”

I look to both Callonetta and Zoltan, both hold their hands up and shake their heads.

I incline my head, retake my seat, and distract myself with eating so they don’t see the trembling of my hands. I finish a wedge of cheese, a small boule of bread, an apple, a cup of milk, a handful of olives, a scoop of pickled vegetables, and a thimble of nerve tonic I pour out from a tiny flask in my belt pouch. I dab my mouth and clear my throat. “We need a backup plan…” I can’t finish my thought.

“It may not come to that, lass.”

I frown. “He wasn’t wearing his medallion when I saw him, Zoltan.”

He and Dandelion just stare at me. Callonetta looks from man to dwarf, confused.

“The man isn’t known to remove it, my dear.”

Callonetta waves at my bare neck.

“I have no such qualms, my lady.”

Dandelion gives me a look I can’t decipher and places his hand over hers. A realization blooms and Callonetta settles.

“If he sold it for…” I stuff my anger back in its bottle.

_Concern._

“He _didn’t care_ , Dandelion. He had no idea who _I_ was _and_ _he didn’t care_.”

Dandelion goes pale. Callonetta looks down. Zoltan runs his hand over his mohawk and shakes his head.

“ _If_ he shows, he will need medical treatment and by someone who is _discreet_.”

My three acquaintances exchange a series of looks.

_Unease._

“You are acquainted with someone, then?”

_Caution._

“ _All of you_ may wish to work on your _Gwent_ tells.”

Zoltan grumbles. Callonetta looks up and smiles. Dandelion glowers.

“ _If_ he shows, who among you can identify him?”

Dandelion looks uncertain. Callonetta shakes her head. Zoltan chimes in, “I am familiar with the man, lass.”

Dandelion glances at Zoltan a moment. “I’ll see what I can do, my lady. Don’t you worry.”

_Too late._

***

A tall and older gentleman wearing a brown cassock stands opposite me inside the office. He gives me a formal bow and says, “I am the chief surgeon at our city’s hospital.”

I courtesy in return. “And I am Nicole, your friend from Zerrikania.”

He is silent while he evaluates me.

I keep my face neutral. “I appreciate your willingness to hear our concerns and on such short notice.”

“You look well enough, my lady, so I shall assume the patient is neither you nor those of our mutual acquaintance?”

I nod. “And may I entrust you with some delicate information?”

He nods.

“At minimum, the patient is an addict. During our last… Encounter, he busied himself with inhaling a whitish powder.”

“Can you describe his symptoms, my lady?”

I close my eyes and replay the encounter in my mind’s eye. “The powder smelled sweet and slightly floral. There was also a smell similar to the gum plant, so I think he was also cooking it. He seemed out of sorts and could not focus. He seemed unaware of the state of his surroundings. His gross and fine motor control was impaired.”

“He may be using white poppy or a type of leaf converted into snuff.”

I open my eyes and nod. “I appreciate knowing your terms for these, my lord.”

He furrows his brow. “It is of interest to me that you recognize the need for medical intervention.”

“Are there not effects on the body in addition to the mind when one is seized with the compulsion? Are there not treatments for the body to break that compulsion and, sometimes, is that not necessary before attending to a disordered mind?”

“Well said, my lady.” His gaze intensifies. “If you have knowledge of this particular set of _theories_ , why not attend to the patient yourself?”

_Fuck._

“It is simple, sir: I am too close to the situation to retain any ongoing objective assessments and I am unfamiliar with the ways in which those of your station practice their profession here.”

_Skepticism._

“It is also of interest to me, my lady, that you refer to what I do as a profession and not a _trade_.”

“Do you not have a certain level of scholarship in addition to any… Hands on exploration and application of said scholarship?”

“You are well-informed for an artisan.”

I pull my medallion out from my belt pouch and I dangle it before me. “I am many things.”

His gaze does not waver but his scent changes; it is more acrid. “I am unfamiliar with what hangs from your fingers, my lady.”

“I suspect you may be familiar with the meaning, just not all of its variations.”

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a threat, my lady?”

I shake my head. “Those _variations_ allow me to exercise my own flavor of discretion. I do well enough with one that I am able to be selective with the other. I am no more pleasant or threatening than I need to be.”

“That is a rather pragmatic attitude, my lady.”

I smirk and tuck my medallion back into my belt pouch. “I like my head where it is as much as the next.”

He becomes more somber. “He may not recover my lady.”

“I understand.”

“Are you prepared?”

I hold his gaze. “You will be compensated either way and you will have my guarantee of safety as long as I remain in the city.”

He weighs this. “I will do what I can, then.”

***

I hear Dandelion and the surgeon in the hallway: from the tones, the doctor has a number of additional questions about me and our patient; Dandelion brushes them off and deflects with a deftness I am coming to appreciate.

Dandelion closes the door behind him and takes his chair behind the desk. He opens a drawer, removes a sand timer and something that looks like a large crystal. He snaps the latter in half.

_My senses cannot expand beyond the room._

“The pass phrase is: Semper Fi, Nicole Saint-Clair, granddaughter of Zoila, daughter of Camille, twin sister to Elias; Software Engineer and Songwriter of the Southern United States of America.”

He turns the sand timer over. “We have a few things to discuss without fear of divination or scrying.”

I remain silent and nod.

“First, you just _spooked_ the physician. _Your_ basic field medicine is advanced, theoretical, and _heretical_ study here. I may not be able to extend any protection to you on those fronts.”

“I-I… I am sorry, Dandelion.”

He smiles. “You may call me Julian in private. I think that is fair considering I am but one of a handful of people who know your true origins.”

“My apologies still stand… Julian.”

He holds up his hand. “Apology accepted. Please let me finish. Our time is limited.”

“Thank y—”

“ _Second_ , when I passed sketches of our mutual friend around to my employees, a few mentioned they saw someone of his description lurking outside.”

_So it wasn’t just wishful thinking._

“—medallion you wear… Are you…?”

I shake my head to clear it. “It’s complicated, sir.”

_Surprise._

“I have had extensive training. There is much about this place I find confusing and difficult to believe.”

He considers this a moment. “We can help you with that while you are here.”

“It may not matter, Julian.”

“Runners and messages have been sent.”

“Remember that part where I gave what hope I have over to you?”

“Have a _little_ faith, Nicole.”

I huff. “ _Now_ you are sounding like my Mimaw.”

He holds up his hand. “Third, there are _fashionable_ people of my acquaintance who are willing to vouch for you.”

“ _Debts_ , Julian. I like to know what I am getting myself into.”

He dismisses my concerns with a wave of his hand.

I start a mental inventory of my portable wealth and what I know of the exchange rates within the city limits. I review this against the pricing I’ve seen during my travels and factor in the average price of the contracts Zoltan and I took up. I do the math and manage not to balk.

There is a popping sensation against my skin and the scent of lilacs. I can expand my senses beyond the room. Dandelion palms the broken crystal and replaces the sand timer in one of his desk drawers. He smiles as he pulls out parchment and dips his quill. “Now that the surgeon has given you a clean bill of health, let’s go over the songs you intend to play for your performance tonight?”

***

I peek through the curtain. We’re at capacity indoors and four rows deep outside. Dandelion has set up a temporary bar adjacent to the main door, and the extra sets of serving hands are doing a brisk business with beer and cider. He has also tapped additional entertainers to wander about to keep the curious engaged.

Coin is flowing to _everyone_ tonight.

 _Good_.

 _God, grant me the strength to do what I must do_.

Callonetta taps me on the shoulder, “Are you ready for this?”

I chuckle. “Not really, no. But we do what we must, aye?”

She chuckles. “Your speech is getting better.”

“Funny how performing can help that along.”

“Would you be willing to show me some of the chord progressions and melodic structures of your homeland?”

I smile. “Of course, Callonetta. I am happy to fulfill your wish.”

“That was a little clunky, Nicole. But I look forward to it.”

***

I cast the amplification spell I did last night.

 _Which is fucking weird, but whatever_.

“I extend my gratitude to all of you for coming to visit us tonight.”

There is applause. There are shouts of affirmation. There are whistles. There are waves and thumbs ups and nods inside and out.

“First, let us make some noise for all of the wonderful performers here tonight!”

_He’s here._

_He is outside about three rows back._

While they cheer and holler, I look out across the audience and I see there are a number of repeat visitors. “Second, I see there are many of you who have come to see us again. Welcome back. We are delighted you return.”

I nod to each of the bouncers and the signal goes out. “Would those of you who have come to see us before tonight be so kind as to allow those who are first-time visitors the chance to exchange places with you?”

There is some sighing and dismay, but they oblige.

_He makes his way inside._

_He finds a spot in a corner near the door._

“I appreciate your cooperation. You continue to demonstrate your kindness and concern for your neighbors.”

A certain amount of civic pride titters through the audience as the shuffling of bodies settles.

I courtesy. “Greetings, _Novigrad_ , and I welcome all of you. I am Your Zerrikanian Friend with an unpronounceable name.”

_Joviality and anticipation._

“My selections for this evening… I-I have good news and bad news to tell, would you like to hear it?” I exaggerate holding out my ear.

“YES!”

I smile and do a small dance. “The Good News: Rumor has it my lover is in this city _and_ that he heard our ruckus last night!”

The cheer makes my head and my wraps _hurt_. I ignore this and spot a number of city and temple guards standing about inside. I look to each of them, “Please accept my apologies for our noise?”

Some wave me off. Some nod. I acknowledge each.

From the stairs, a laborer shouts, “And The Bad News?”

I do an exaggerated look down at my chest. “The Bad News is my selections tonight are a bit less boisterous…”

There is laughter and wolf whistles.

“And they should not disappoint.” I do an exaggerated wink, “At least in _that_ way.”

 _More laughter_.

I take a seat on the stool and check the tuning on my guitar. “My first song tonight is the very first one my lover ever heard me play. I hope you enjoy it as much as he did.

I play through the first theme twice and I add a little bit more bass before I start the first verse. I give an exaggerated wink to the various couples I’m starting to see pair up. At the third verse, I acknowledge the arguing or distancing couples; they are shocked into stopping.

_Whistles and chuckling._

My eyes to come to rest on the man sitting at the table by the door.

_He is wearing a full-length cloak and his hood is up._

_He doesn’t appear to be armed._

_He hasn’t cleaned himself, if the people around him leaning or moving away from him is any indication._

I almost miss a few notes and drop the beat.

The audience is stomping to the down beats when I get to the bridge. There are also a few people at the tables tapping mugs and playing spoons.

I put wonder and wistfulness in my voice when I wrap up the final verse.

The applause isn’t as raucous as last night. “I know, _I know_. Tonight’s selections are a little bit different…”

I stand up and do a little hop and my tits jiggle—and stay in place—as _expected_.

_There is more lustful laughter._

“Now you know why.”

I glance over at the figure sitting at the table by the door.

_He is still and focused._

I retake my seat center stage. “My second selection for the evening is quite simple. It is about the flow of time and the wishes we all have for our chosen love.”

I put my finger to my lips and I begin; the piece is modal and similar to the music I have heard in this place.

I put all of my yearning in the first two verses and I put all of my wonder and warmth into the chorus. I make sure I look over and gaze at the man at the table near the entrance when I get to the line about who I want to go through time with.

There is no foot stomping, clapping, hollering, whistling, spoon playing, or laughter with this selection. Instead, those hands are being held, those feet are still, and those mouths are smiling or whispering. There is only the quiet attentiveness of people wishing for a kind of love that would prompt a song like this.

I look over to the man in the corner for a few moments when I sing the final repetition of the chorus.

_I am really here and I speak the truth._

_I cannot be disappointed._

I end the song and I allow the silence to stand for dozens of heartbeats, _waiting_.

He does nothing.

I clear the scream from my throat and smile. “I don’t know about you, my friends, but I’m having a hard time keeping the tears out of my eyes. And _I’m_ the performer.”

He remains silent. The audience murmurs consolation.

_I just can’t._

“On that note, it is time for me to take my leave of you. I wish you all a good night and wherever you go, may you find love waiting.”

I bow deeply and I make my way to the edge of the stage. I am clenching my jaw to the point it is painful.

“ _Wait!_ ”

The audience titters. I look up and the same laborer who asked me for the bad news points behind me. I turn around and move my guitar to my back to free my hands.

His gait is unsteady as pushes past the people in front of him. I give the bouncers the signal.

He slips but catches himself as he steps onto the stage. He is unfocused but determined.

I hold my arms out, take a balanced stance, and announce, “How can I help you my friend?”

He wraps his arms about my waist as his knees fold. I catch him and help him keep his feet.

He buries his face in my neck and inhales. He tastes the skin there and whispers, “You’re _alive_. You’re _here_.”

I nod to the bouncers. I smile out at the audience. “It would seem that I am not the only one caught up in the emotion of the moment.” I pat the man on the back. “We will get this man settled. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I put my arm under his shoulder while one of the bouncers does the same on the other side of him. The second one clears the way for us.

The man we are carrying groans, “Oh, _Nicki_. Oh, _my_ Nicki _._ ”

“Oh, will we have words _later_ my friend. _Right now_ , we have places to go.”

All of us make it out to the back where a cart is waiting.

***

A short list of things I hate in these circumstances:

I stand in an alcove in the morgue.

He is without his medallion.

He isn’t aware he is shackled to the wall.

He is in little more than ragged and stained braies.

His feet are torn and bruised and bare.

He is filthy and he _stinks_.

I don’t want to think about what is smeared on my clothes and on the inside of his cloak.

I will have to find someone to launder mine; I am uncertain if his shouldn’t be burned.

He is passed out and won’t give me the satisfaction of yelling at him.

The doctor squats next to the remnants of the man I love. “Go now, milady. Should there be a significant change, I will send word.”

I manage to make it around the corner and part way up the stairs before I puke.

***

I am armed and armored, and my medallion is on display. My hair is held back from my face with a thin circlet of silver wire and I have refreshed my kohl and lip rouge.

I don’t even care my hands are stinging under my hand wraps when I enter the brothel. The lobby isn’t busy at this hour; there are those who have imbibed a little bit too much slumped in corners, a group of three workers sit at a table chatting over mending and mugs of gin, a small boy tends to the coals and logs in the fire, and a different person—a man with a number of knotted tattoos on his arms and torso—is behind the bar taking inventory.

He sees me approach and goes on alert. His hands go to his hips and he adjusts his stance.

I hold up my hand. “Peace my good man. I mean no trouble and I am here on business.”

He gives me _that_ look and glances from my medallion to the dual swords I have strapped to my back and to the short saber at my side. “What business would a woman o’ _yer_ kind ha’ here, now?”

“That is between me and madam, sir.”

“And what would madam have wi’ _ye_?”

I sigh and pull up to the bar. “Be a good man and fetch her and I’ll take an ale while you do.”

He doesn’t budge. He flexes and does not remove his gaze from my person.

“ _Sir_ , tell her Zerrikanian Friend is back.”

“She doesna _ha’_ any _friends_ from _Zerrikania_ —”

“—she _does.”_ I keep my hands visible on the bar and I make sure he sees the ring on my finger. “I’m here to settle the matter of the gentleman who _was_ staying on the third floor.”

His hands go back to his hips a moment before he turns and marches away.

I reach over the bar and help myself; the cup is clean and the ale is crisp. The three women busy with their drinks and mending refocus their attention on their tasks, and the snorers have not shifted into wakefulness. I drop a couple of my new filters and prop my chin in my hand.

_Sibilants and jagged confusion over what is waiting for them._

_Two heartbeats, both elevated. Scents are stronger, sour, and yellow-green._

_Curiosity lights the air and bounces back from the constraints of caution._

_No threats in the building._

_The coals in the fireplace need to be replaced._

_Two of the five men sleeping it off here in the lobby have some form of liver failure. A third is diabetic and infection has set in._

_None are masking their true forms._

I sit up and place a couple of silver coins on the bar and pour myself a second cup. I flip a third to the man as he reaches the landing and rounds the corner. He catches this midair before he remembers himself.

I wink at him. He nods.

Madam looks from him to me _and pales_.

“Madam, I come in peace and I apologize for the hour.”

The flood of relief coming from her fills the immediate space. She inclines her head. “My bar keep has mentioned you are here to settle an account?”

I nod. “That I am once I have evaluated the state of the room and have retrieved any and _all_ of his possessions stored there.”

Sir bar keep crosses his arms. Madam waves him off.

“May I have the room key? I will show myself up.”

The pair exchange a look before he reaches into a belt pouch, walks over, and slaps it into my palm.

***

The acrid and sweet stench of the room is _worse_ and crashes into me when I reach the landing at the top of the stairs.

 _Jesus Fucking Christ, Eskel_.

I unlock the door and I walk over to the window, opening it as far as it will go.

 _Since burning it_ all _with fire isn’t an option._

I take a deep breath and hold it. I unsheathe my short saber and my steel long sword, and I use these to pick through the linens and pillows on the bed. These are so bad, I just toss them out the window.

I flip the mattress and I lean the bed frame up against the wall. I do what I can to sweep away the filthy rushes and vermin droppings from underneath there, piling that muck up in the corner across from where the bed used to be.

The contents of the chamber pots also get tossed out the window; so does rotting food on pewter plates and liquid contained in bottles.

I march myself over to the side table and pull open its single drawer; a coin purse which does not bear his personal sigil remains untouched. I open it and find a number of cut gems along with his medallion. I tuck this away among my belt pouches.

I pull out a small, clean vial from another pouch on my belt. I open it and pour what is left of the tray of whitish powder from atop the side table into it. Some of it gets into the air and I _run_ over to the window and catch my breath.

_Purple. Electric. Crumbling stone._

_Cleaner. Sadder. Saltier._

_Somber. Regret._

_Mourning._

There are his swords in a broken footlocker. There is his armor rolled up and secured with his belt. There are his stained pants, his soiled hosen, and small clothes. There is his alchemical pouch.

There is the bound journal I gave him. There are the destroyed pages of notes about local-to-me measurements, translations, and the initial sketches of me. There are subsequent sketches, which grow more and more distorted until the last one resembles a distant cousin.

My face is wet and I wipe my eyes. I realize my mistake the moment the euphoria sparkles at the edges of my vision.

_Fuck!_

***

I set his armor down outside my balcony door. I unroll it and give each item a snap before I drape everything over the rail for an airing. I do the same with his soiled clothing.

I unstrap his and my swords from my back and hang both sets up on the pegs by the main door.

I put my hand crossbow on top of the side table next to the bed. My longbow rests unstrung underneath it.

I bring the pitcher of water and the washbasin over to the table in the visiting area. I fill it, I add a bit of my own soap to the water along with some of the vodka from the bottle.

I leave the note underneath the bottle to puzzle out later.

I lean back in my chair for a long blink.

_Madam and Sir bar keep stand at the bottom landing of the stairs on the main floor. I rest my hand on the hilt of my short saber. “His things are in order. I have done what I can with the room.”_

_“He would not leave the chamber maids to their work and he would not allow the valets to attend to his belongings.”_

_I pluck a single gem from the pouch I discovered, and I flip it to Sir bar keep. “That should cover any cleaning, repair costs, and_ other _fees.”_

_He shifts back and forth on his feet; she is unaware she scratches at her elbow._

_He hands me a small stack of unopened letters. I hand the room key back to him. I ask madam, “Before you see the back of me, who among you supplied him with the narcotics?”_

_One of the three women at the table nearby drops a knitting needle._

_“I-I cannot say milady. Perhaps he brought it in with him?”_

_I give them both a quick courtesy. “I thank you for your hospitality.”_

_I finger spell a word and I walk unhindered to the door._

***

**III.**

_My Dear Lady, N—,_

_I Understand and Accept it is a lady’s right to change her mind under such Devastating Circumstances._

_I am Concerned that These Circumstances have Urged you to take Unnecessary Risks. I plead with you to Reconsider. Your Friend is found and is in Capable Hands._

_Your Music Will Be Missed,_

_J—_

***

There is another insistent knock on my door. “Milady, are you awake?”

I sit up and stretch.

“Milady? _Please_.”

I stand up and walk over to the door. I unlock it and I open it a crack. One of the younger chamber maids stands on the other side and her eyes are as big as dinner plates while she looks me up and down.

“May I help you, miss?”

Her courtesy is a quick thing and she squeaks, “Um… A-a message c-came for you… Hospital!”

She _bolts_ before I can reach into my coin purse and tip her.

***

Eskel is pale and sweating, his skin is hot to the touch when I check his pulse at his neck. “Has he regained consciousness, doctor?”

_Hesitation._

“Twice, my lady, and only for a minute or two.”

There is a strangling noise. My beloved is convulsing. I turn him on his side and I keep a count.

_What I wouldn’t give for Narcan, an IV-line, IV hydration, IV medication, heart and oxygen monitors…_

I address the doctor over my shoulder, “How frequent are the fits?”

“The small ones, about every fifteen minutes. These larger ones occur every hour.”

 _Christ_.

Eskel starts heaving; only bile and mucus come up.

“The vomiting has slowed, my lady. “The doctor is grave. “It’s down to every half hour and often with the larger fits.”

“He is in danger of… An imbalance of water and… Minerals of the earth.”

“Do you mean dehydration and an imbalance of salts, my lady?”

I struggle to keep the relief from my face. “ _Yes_.”

I have the man’s undivided attention. “It is not wise to try to give him anything by mouth.”

“What about venipuncture and supplying… What is needed from an external source?”

The doctor goes still. “Such things have been proposed, but the balance is not well understood, and any application has been deemed heretical since such a practice would violate the spiritual body of the patient.”

_Fuck._

“I will respect the local spiritual and religious customs concerning such things for they are far wiser than—”

“— _are_ they, my lady?”

I clear my throat. “Even if such heretical and theoretical ideas were under discussion, there still remains the balance of water, salts, _and sugars_ to consider, and _how much to give_ based on the patient’s weight and passing water.” I pull at my sleeve. “I don’t think I would enjoy the feel of having my flesh burned off my bones.”

The doctor just stares at me.

“Has the frequency of the fits increased or decreased?”

“Neither my lady.”

 _Shit_.

“There is naught we can do but wait and I summoned you to witness that his life hangs in the balance.”

***

“—injured, my lady?”

I look down at my hands and wrists. I sigh and nod.

The doctor motions to a wooden gurney and a mobile tray full of bottles and clean linens. He washes his hands with a combination of soap and astringent before he dries them off on a clean rag. I undo my bracers, roll up the sleeves of my gambeson to my elbows, and remove my wraps.

He pauses a moment. “May I compliment you on your sterile protocols, my lady?”

“I wouldn’t allow you to attend to me otherwise, _Herr Doctor_.” I hold my hands out to him. He is gentle as he removes my bandages and examines me.

He holds my gaze. “Burns from magic use.”

I remain silent.

“I have heard tales of a cloth of elven make which is used to counteract the magical capabilities of their race.” He glances down at my hands, wrists, and forearms. “However, this doesn’t explain the deeper burns.”

“Bracelets from Mount Carbon.”

The doctor goes still. “Yet, you still have your _arms_.”

I continue to remain silent.

He turns his back to me and retrieves a small pot from among the bottles on the tray. He takes each of my hands and goes about the efficient business of attending to my injuries.

When he is finished, he hands the small pot to me. “I’m surprised you do not have this, my lady.”

I re-wrap my hands, roll down my sleeves, and replace my bracers. “I can be full of surprises, doctor.”

I drop one of my new filters and look into the distance behind him to the floor below. “Please allow me to attend to the nuisance between here and the surface as an acknowledgment of your discretion and kindness?”

He considers this. “I am honored you would ply your trade on my behalf.”

***

The doctor closes the gate behind me. “Stay to the left and head toward the surface whenever you can.”

I draw my silver sword, I put my hand to my mouth, and whistle. A large pack of _vodniks_ scurry out of the shadows. I turn to the doctor and say, “This is _my_ pleasure, doctor. I will see you again soon.”

I _push_. My rage is just under the surface and I grab _it_ ; I channel _it_.

I feel the wind rise and my spirits do along with it.

I am _grinning_. I am _screaming_.

I _step to_. I _step through_.

I _dance_. I am a whirling dervish of death.

I flow. I strike.

I dodge. I parry.

I maim. I rip.

I _see into_. I _pluck_. I _destroy_.

I turn and look back at the doctor as the last pieces fall to the ground.

_Fear._

***

“Good Evening, Guests, Friends, and Music Lovers. I am Your Zerrikanian Friend—”

“—w _ith the unpronounceable name!_ ”

I chuckle. “I see that my accent and my manner of speech must be improving!”

 _Laughter_.

“For the second night in a row, I have Good News and I have Bad News! What would you like to hear first?”

The audience rumbles. An off-duty guard near the stairwell shouts, “The Bad News!”

“The Bad News it is! A free drink for the man who accepted the gauntlet!”

One of the staff approaches the guard and takes the order. The rest of the audience is disappointed.

“The Bad News is I only have one song for you tonight. Do you want to hear The Good News?”

“ _Aye!”_

“That was _fast_ , my friends.” I smile and bow. “The time I spend on a song, I shall spend answering questions you may have of me and of my music.”

One of the bouncers to my left chimes in, “How old you are.”

 _Curiosity. Laughter. And a lot of ‘Oooooooo!’_.

“Don’t look at me, madam! I repeat only what comes from the crowd!”

I wag my finger. “Now, now. I’m old enough _not_ to answer that question.”

_Mirth._

“Where you from within Zerrikania?” This, from another off-duty guard standing near the main entrance.

“All over, sir. I didn’t pop out of my mother’s womb with an instrument in my hand and a song in my heart, but it was near enough.”

_Skepticism._

_Intrigue._

From the bar near the stage, one of the younger elven dancers asks, “Who was the man who came up to you last night?”

I repeat the question with my voice amplified, “The question is: Who was the man who came up to me last night.”

I pause.

 _Because I need to_.

“Three guesses, my audience, and the first two don’t count. “

“He’s _huge!_ ” This, from a dwarven woman standing on a table a few rows back and opposite me.

 _Laughter_.

I stand up from my stool and I twirl around. There are some catcalls and shouts. “My dear lady, I’m long in the shanks… _Even for a human_.”

_Appreciation._

_More laughter_.

“Which brings me to my one and only song selection this evening, my friends of Novigrad. My lover is found, but I’m not pleased with him at the moment. I will tell you the same thing I told our dear friend Callonetta: I play music when I’m upset.”

I go right into an acoustic version of a contemporary-to-me song about my lover making up his mind to stay here with me. I put my bitterness into the lines about letting him fall so he can remember himself, and how sick I am about the lie he’s been living.

By the third verse, I allow some of my contempt for the current situation seep into my voice and I start _weaving_ this into the outro. I throw more than a little disbelief for a few measures as I go into the last repeat of the chorus and I smile into the last two lines.

Many of the women outside and in are on their feet, shouting, cheering, stomping, and whistling louder than the men when I silence the strings.

As the applause dies down, I hear a man by the window adjacent to me shout, “ _Remind us never to piss you off!_ ”

 _Laughter_.

I pantomime fanning myself, “Language my dear sir!”

I nod to where Zoltan is standing between the curtain and the bar. “I am mostly harmless. Just ask him.” The dwarf in question does an exaggerated shrug and plays along.

I take my bow. “With that, my dear audience, I must go get drunk and find a fight.”

It is the men cheering and whistling this time.

***

Zoltan puts his hand on my arm once I am even with him. “Office. Now.” I nod and follow him.

When I push the curtain to the back of the house aside, two very official looking men leave the office and turn down the hall to go out the back. This includes the older and well-dressed gentleman I saw two days prior. Neither see Zoltan or I in the hallway.

We are quick to the office and are quiet about closing the door behind us. I take a seat again in one of the chairs in front of the desk and set my guitar case on the floor. Zoltan takes his usual place by the door. This time, Dandelion is standing behind his desk, holding his finger up.

The band starts playing.

Zoltan raises an eyebrow and turns. “That didn’t look good, Julian.”

Dandelion looks a little deflated as he plops in the chair behind his desk. He is dismissive as he waves his hands. “Administrators. Blah blah blah Noise. Blah blah blah Crowds. Blah blah blah Civic disturbance. Blah blah blah Fines. Blah blah blah.”

My eyes go wide.

“Nicole. They are here _every week_ telling me the _exact_ same thing, so please do not trouble yourself.”

I exhale.

“Cheer up, buttercup!” He smiles. “I’ve got it covered!”

I blink. _A lot_.

I glance over at Zoltan. “Uhhh, I have the impression you wanted to see me, Dandelion, and that it was urgent?”

He pauses a moment and furrows his brow. He snaps his fingers. “Oh! Yes! I wanted to let you know that the additional laundry we sent out should be ready tomorrow morning.”

 _Is this man from Mars_?

“Thank you, Dandelion. Where should I pick it up and how much do I owe?”

He waves me away. “My dear! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do this trifling thing for you?”

“Uhhh. Double thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t mention it, my lady.”

I clear my throat. “While I have you both here, would either of you or Callonetta be willing to help me run a few errands around town?”

“Whatever you need, Nicole.”

I pick up my guitar case and head for the door.

Zoltan opens it for me.

From behind me, I hear Dandelion ask, “Oh! I remember what was so important now! What was the runner this morning about?”

I turn part of the way around. I look at the man. “Eskel may not make it through the night. There isn’t anything either the physician or I can do but wait.”

I bob my head and I close the door behind me. I trudge up the back stairs.

_Fuck it._

I _step into_ my room. I lock the door.

I ignore the burning on the palms of my hands.

I open all the windows. I open the door to the balcony.

I take my guitar out of its case and I carry it in one hand, while I carry a chair out with me in the other. I take my seat and I lean up against the wall, with my foot braced against the railing.

_And I give zero fucks that what I’m about to play might get me arrested._

_Or hanged._

_Or beheaded._

_Or burned on a pyre._

I begin.

_How can you just walk away from me and let you leave me without a trace?_

_How can you leave me with only the memory of your face?_

_When there is so much I need to say to you?_

_And all I can do is wait while the odds are against you._

_Not sure how to feel about it._

_It has been hard to live without you._

_And so I hold on._

_I want you to stay._

_Shadows settled on the place you left._

_I walk through echoes and empty halls_

_A ghost in my own domain, a lifeless silhouette_

_Which you will soon forget._

_It’s not so bad during the day_

_I just run around so I don’t have to think about thinking_

_Going about my business._

_But your face keeps me awake the moment I stop_

_Breathless and sweaty, my chest aches_

_Is broken open._

_A trade, a desperate trade_

_Heroes for Monsters_

_Cold comfort for change_

_A Walk-on part in a war for a Leading Role in a Cage._

_Got so much to lose._

_Got so much to prove._

_Please, gods, don’t let me lose my mind._

_I walk alone along these strange cobbled streets of stone_

_‘Neath torches and terror’s after glow_

_In silence_

_In a place so close and yet, I cannot reach you_

_Signs flash out in warning._

_Shall I pour out the cup?_

_Shall I take it back instead?_

_Do I dare hold onto the hope the dawn will come_

_And with it the cup to be shared?_

_These dreams of mine, they come too slow and go too fast_

_And surely, not all things that I touch, I cannot grasp?_

_The tides, they ebb_

_The rivers they flow_

_Catch a flash of lightning in a jar and let it out slow._

_It is easier not to be wise_

_It is easier not to know_

_How fortunes change and how fate can be cruel_

_So we hide our faces in fear and turn away._

_All these riddles I burn_

_candles at both ends_

_Is it the answers then, which evade me_

_Among the time which slips through my hands?_

***

I _step_ _out of_ a shadow just outside the alcove where what’s left of the man lay chained.

I grab one of my boot daggers and I _step to_ the man.

I straddle his chest and pin his upper arms beneath my knees. He does not struggle and his breathing does not change.

My anger fills and quickens me; I undo my wraps and bandages on my hands. I tuck the former into my belt pouch and I toss the latter aside.

I raise my blade. I take a handful of deep breaths as I brace myself.

I bring the knife down and across.

My blood wells up from my wrist.

I hold his nose closed with my other hand until he gasps.

I squeeze my blood into his mouth.

He struggles and chokes.

 _But I don’t care_.

I hold his mouth and nose closed until he swallows.

I release his nose so he can breathe.

I count to thirty.

I _push hard._ I _look into._

I _reach._ I _bridge_.

I chant, “ _As the living Father hath sent me, and I live by the Father: so he that eateth me, even he shall live by me._ ”

And I do this to him: I hold his nose, I drip blood from my wrist into his mouth, I close his mouth and hold both closed until his swallow reflex kicks in.

_I pass out._

***

_That is my beloved, doctor!_

_She needs her rest after…_

_What did you allow her to do?_

Allow _dear sir? Do you think I could stop her when she is so determined?_

I lay on the same wooden gurney I sat upon, not even a day ago.

_My dear sir…_

_You aided a compatriot of mine. Be careful with your speech,_ sir.

_Tell me how I may aid in her recovery…_

I hear, “ _Remarkable_.”

I open my eyes and I see an ordinary middle-aged man with an impressively crooked nose, graying hair, and very dark and brilliant eyes leaning over me.

I spy the doctor behind him at the railing.

 _Fuck_.

I sit up. The world dips a little.

I hold out my hand to this new person who now stands in front of me. “I am Nicole. I am your Friend from Zerrikania and at your service, sir.”

He bows and does not take my hand. “You may call me Regis, my lady.”

I bow my head in return. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Regis.”

“Likewise.”

I scratch my head and look from the doctor and back to Regis. “I am going to hazard a guess that you are here at the doctor’s invitation?”

He smiles. “That would be correct, my lady.”

My stomach growls and it is very loud. “I beg your pardon, but do you have anything on hand to eat?”

The doctor acknowledges this and says, “I will arrange for a tray from the hospital kitchens, my lady.”

My stomach growls again. “And if you would be so kind as to ensure there is a _volume_ of it and that it arrives _post haste_ , I’d appreciate it, sir.”

***

A servant brings a tray with an entire chicken, a handful boiled potatoes, what looks to be a bowl of some boiled greens, a small pitcher of beer, a small pitcher of water, and two pewter cups.

I bow my head and thank the slight woman. She grunts and is in a hurry to leave us.

I spread the napkin on my lap and address the two… Folks in front of me. “Please forgive my barbarity, gentlemen, but I _must_ eat.”

I don’t wait for their permission to start tearing the chicken apart. I inhale both breasts. I finish a potato in two bites. I chug the pitchers of beer and water. _Nothing_ spills or lands in my lap.

I dab my chin and the corners of my mouth with the napkin.

_Still a little raw at the edges._

_But feeling a little bit more human._

I chuckle for a few moments _and then I realize where I am and with whom._

I clear my throat. “How long have I been unconscious, doctor?”

“About three hours according to the city clock tower, my lady.”

I nod and pull the bowl of greens over and I start eating these with my fork and knife. Halfway through the bowl I remember myself and I look to Regis and ask, “If I may inquire?”

“I have an _extensive_ knowledge of Alchemy and the doctor called upon me to investigate what your friend may have imbibed to bring him to such a state, given his history and physiology.”

I put my utensils down on the tray. I reach for my belt pouch and I remove the vial I took from Eskel’s room. I hold this out to the Alchemist. “I understand this may be called ‘fisstech’ here. I found this on a tray in the room where he was staying. Please be careful when opening the vial, sir.”

He considers me for a long moment before he plucks the vial from my hand. “You collected this despite any potential danger to you?”

I glance at the doctor. “Yes. I thought it could be useful to determine the… Alchemical composition of the substance, while tracing it to its source.”

This Regis character glances at the doctor before responding “Excellent thinking, my lady.”

I nod and eat several more bites of greens.

“Do you recall anything else about the powder or the room?”

I finish my bite. “He wasn’t _just_ snorting what is in the vial. “

“Did you observe any brown or tarry substances in the room?”

The next forkful of greens remains in the bowl. “ _Brown? Tarry?_ How do I put this delicately, sir?”

He waves me off. “No need.”

“He was cooking that with something else. It smelled sweet like poppyseed bread.”

_Surprise._

“I also collected his own Alchemical pouch, if you think…”

“If you would be so kind as to tell me where it is you are staying and where to find the pouch, I will ask the proprietor to allow me to retrieve it so that I may continue my investigations.”

I provide the location and where to find Eskel’s belongings.

***

**IV.**

_You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw in that room._

_Ye led me to believe…_

_You mistake me. It bothered me less that he was with a succubus…_

_…Ye’re kidding._

_My comment about him having enough ‘juice’?_

_I thought ye were speaking to something_ else _, lass._

_The rot and decay wasn’t just in his room, Zoltan. Be glad you do not possess the senses I do._

Regis is shaking his head as he pulls things from Eskel’s pouch. “This is most unusual. Those of his trade are known to be careful about such things. This will make further inquiry more difficult.”

“It was an eventful evening, and I was overwrought.”

“Perfectly understandable, my lady, given the circumstances.”

“I appreciate your understanding, my lord.”

He nods as he continues to pull out vials and stoppered jars filled with viscous liquids and powdered substances. There seems to be a few stems and roots left in the goo that was plant matter. The Alchemist sets these aside on a piece of cloth and begins cataloging what lay before him.

 _This Regis… Is very methodical_.

_My own folklore got a piece correct._

“May I ask what you used as cleaning agents?”

“I had injuries on my hands that night. I reused—.”

He smiles. “—and what did you put into the water?”

“A few shavings of soap and a couple of shots of _vodka_ as an astringent.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, my lord.”

He sets the medallion aside for now and starts testing and cataloging what lay before him on the tray.

Without looking up he says, “I understand you have some medical training, my lady.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I like my head where it is and I’m not a fan of being roasted on a spit.”

“You have an _odd_ manner of speech and turns of phrase.”

I shrug.

He glances over at me. “Your manner of dress and your race do indeed suggest an origin from the southern Matriarchies.”

“Allow _me_ to worry about my origins, _sir. Let_ _us_ apply our minds on how best to treat the patient.”

Regis smiles. “You are able to triage and dress wounds. You know how to be safe when collecting specimens for study.”

“I was taught some basic field medicine, aye.”

“This was taught to you during your time in Zerrikania?”

“Among other places.”

He glances back up at me and I can’t quite make out his expression. “And tell me about your knowledge of the substance in the vial?”

_Shit._

“I have been to areas where use was rampant. I have seen it ravage entire villages.”

He nods. “What are some of the effects of long-term use?”

“Increased tolerance to the formulation, a constellation of symptoms related to the dehydration and starvation of the body once the compulsion has taken root—including seeking more of the substance beyond all reason and related changes to the user’s mind and social relationships. Infections are common. Vessels can collapse and rot can set in, hastening death.”

He looks at me. “Please, call me Regis.”

“As you wish, Regis. I am humbled—”

“—May I call you by your given name, my lady?”

“If it pleases you.”

“Nicole, what is the outlook in terms of recovery?”

“Regis, I have never come known a casual compulsory user of _this_ formulation. In those same villages, there were only those who were involved in its manufacture, those who had succumbed to the compulsory madness it induces, or corpses. Treatment with adjacent formulations did not quell the compulsion and often led to the mixing of _both_.”

He looks into the distance and is contemplative. “To survive the madness, only to succumb to another death.”

I nod. “On the whole, yes.”

He smiles and returns to going through what is in front of him on the tray. “We have a mutual friend, Nicole.”

He gives a name. I confirm it.

“Nicole, am I to understand the man who is being treated may be a contemporary of our mutual friend?”

 _Clever bastard_.

“I know only they are brothers in arms.”

His smile broadens a bit, and it is an uncanny thing. “You are protective of our patient, my lady.”

I motion to the medallion at my neck. “The Path connects all of our schools, my lord.”

This Regis goes silent and returns his full attention to the cataloging task in front of him. I look beyond the Alchemist to the alcove… _And it is empty_.

_Agitated swirls of purple and electric and stone leading back to the hospital._

_Shards of fear are scattered on either side and are in the same direction._

_New patterns throb around this doctor and this alchemist._

_Ozone and fire and blood._

_One set sharpening in my direction._

I lock eyes with the doctor. “Our patient lives.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“He is not in his alcove.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“He is taken to the hospital.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Does he remain there and unharmed?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I _will_ have the reason for his removal there, doctor.”

“ _You_ , my lady.” He takes a step forward and says, “He became quite _agitated_ when he saw that you were unconscious. We removed him for his safety… _And yours_.”

I keep my expression neutral. “I am thankful to hear that he recovers.”

Regis glances up at the doctor. “The change is quite _remarkable_ , my lady. He no longer vomits and is able to drink fluids. He wakeful, ambulatory, and is able to respond to questions. What did you give him?”

On second thought I say, “A prayer and an offering.”

Both the doctor and the Alchemist stare at me.

I hop off the gurney and bow. “I thank you for attending to me and for attending to our Witcher friend. I shall take my leave of you.”

I _step into_ the voids and shadows cast by the torch light and _step away_.

***

_D—, C— & Z—,_

_Our mutual friend lived through the night. The doctor says he’s stable, but not out of danger._

_I need my rest._

_N—_

***

_My jangled senses tell me it is after sunrise. Experience tells me it is just before dawn._

_Someone is at the edge of my bed_.

I reach for my crossbow and _push_.

I am taking aim at empty air.

_Medallion isn’t vibrating._

_The scents of Dandelion and Regis are several hours old._

_The only intention and emotion in the room is mine._

_The fuck?_

I lower the crossbow and set it back down on the nightstand.

There are _two_ armor stands in the room. A heavy canvas sack is beside each one.

_I didn’t even notice these when I came to bed._

_How much of the stuff did I get into my eyes?_

_Am I losing it again?_

I walk over to the pegs by the door and dig through my belt pouches for my nerve tonic.

The vials have been replenished.

There is a slip of paper. The note is in a very tight and precise hand:

_My Dear Lady N—,_

_I have replaced the tonic with one of my own. Three drops in a cup of liquid should suffice._

_I would like the honor of your company and conversation once the situation has found an equilibrium._

_I look forward to and await your reply,_

_R—_

I almost drop the vial and the note. I walk over to the table with the vial, I pour myself a cup of water, and I follow the instructions provided. It doesn’t take long.

I burn that note and I script my own:

_My Lord R—,_

_I appreciate your attention and discretion. I accept your invitation._

_N—_

I roll this up inside another piece of parchment and seal it with wax.

I open the door a crack and direct the chamberlain to take the letter to the hospital and to give it to the doctor. He bows and hurries off.

***

I run my fingertip along the torn edges of his journal.

_While I can respect the reasons for their removal, I wish his notes detailing the conversion of his alphabet to mine were still present._

I cup my chin with my other hand while I stare at the stack of unopened letters on the table.

_He didn’t care about them before he stumbled onto the stage. He might not care about them now._

I lean down and retrieve one of my boot daggers. I use this to pop open the plain wax seal of the first letter. There are numbers here and I recognize the sigil of the brothel where I found him.

_The layout of bills seems universal._

_Madam is honestly dishonest._

_The gem I flipped to her man will cover all of it._

I set this aside for safe keeping.

The wax on the second letter is thicker and of a finer tallow. It is dated three months prior and requests his presence in a city called… Corvid? Korvidae? Something about ravens? A city of crows? The script is in a light and flowing hand but is not signed. I don’t know enough of the script alphabet or local towns to be able to tease out much more than this.

The third has no wax and the ink is ruined in places by what looks like rain drops. The script is heavy, looks hastily written, and has several Capitalizations for emphasis.

The fourth has the sigil of Dandelion’s establishment. I pop the wax and learn the letter was written eight days prior and welcomes the broken man to stay among friends and in comfort.

I bury my face in my hands. I take one deep breath after another until I can unclench my jaw.

_The armor._

_I can keep my hands busy that way._

I walk over and pick up one of the heavy sacs and pull his reinforced mail coat from the rack.

There is a rhythm to cleaning linked and ringed armor in a bag of sand; this also provides a core and upper body workout. The last few days have shown me that I tend to attract _a lot_ of attention from the guard when I am on the roof of the inn drilling.

I also learned they don’t appreciate I use the opportunity to practice deflecting arrows.

When I pull his coat out, all of my darker intentions resurface; spot rust and leather rot has taken hold in places.

There is only so much I can do.

***

“My lady, you may wish to work on your letters.” Callonetta manages this between laughing and sipping ale from her mug.

Dandelion is searching for the right thing to say. Zoltan hides his smile behind his mug. I raise my eyebrow in the woman’s direction. “I’ll bite. Just how _atrocious_ was it?”

“Did ye mean to tell us the man is _sterile_?”

I blink _a lot_. “No. I meant to write that his condition was _stable_ , not that he was _sterile,_ Zoltan.”

This does not help the situation. Dandelion nearly chokes on his wine. Callonetta erupts in a fit of coughing. Zoltan guffaws.

I go back to replacing one of the rusted rings. “They went through a number of… Dancing girls after we met, and a few of those tried to plead their bellies.” And then I catch the giggles. “The issue _came up_.”

Callonetta laughs. Zoltan is howling. Dandelion smiles, shakes his head, and starts counting on his fingers.

_Confusion._

“Wait _… How many_ did—?”

“—did _you_ hear?” I cut him off.

The laughter in the room stops. Dandelion takes a seat on the bench next to me. Callonetta remains standing. Zoltan sits on a stool opposite me and leans in.

Dandelion catches Zoltan’s eye a moment. “I knew you met our mutual friend and the man in the hospital.”

I give him the other two names. His eyes go wide. Zoltan stops mid drink. Callonetta’s eyes also widen.

Dandelion is first to speak. “I am not well-acquainted with the one. I was close with the other.”

The room remains silent while I finish my repair. I wipe my hands off and take my own deep drink of ale. “ _Soooo_ , _four_ interesting people, a cat, and I meet in a great hall in the middle of the night. Hilarity ensues.”

I have everyone’s rapt attention.

I finish my drink and say, “Another time perhaps?”

***

“My audience, I ask you again tonight, would you like to hear the Good News or the Bad News first?”

They chant, “ _Good News! Good News! Good News!”_

“My prayers were answered, and my lover lived through the night.”

_Cheering._

I turn and do a series of quick bows, thanking them.

I hear by the stairs, “What’s the Bad News?”

“My hands are a little sore from playing… “

_More cheering._

“From that response, more than a few of you heard me out on the balcony last night. I’d like to take a moment and thank both the Temple Guard and those of the City Guard for keeping order in the wake of my grief.”

I glance at Dandelion and he nods his head.

“To show our appreciation for your service, I am buying you a round…When you’re off-duty, _of course_.”

_Hollering and whistling._

“Just show your badge to one of the servers tonight and during the length of this concert series, and we’ll take care of you.”

_Gratitude._

_Entitlement._

When those making their way to the bars settles. “I have two songs for you tonight. This first one is about taking a moment when something terrible happens.

I hear near the indoor bar, “What about the second song?”

“The second one is a lament about what happened and trying again.”

***

**V.**

The proprietor is kind enough to provide me with a semi-private area on what appears to be the female side of the establishment.

I ask that I be left alone to attend to my own scrubbing and rinsing.

A shallow basin with a small pitcher, a brush with a longer handle, a few balls of soap, some type of scraper thing, and a wide-toothed comb is brought to me. A small tray of aromatic oils is also set nearby.

I glance around the place to figure out if there is an order to this.

I add one of the balls of soap to the bathwater.

_Might as well soak while I work on my hair._

I take the small pitcher and I rinse my hair before I take part of another soap ball, mash it up, work it into a lather, and start massaging my scalp.

I have to wash my hair a couple of times.

I use the scraper to get under my nails.

I find the brush is softer than it looks.

I use the oils on my skin and on my hair after I dry off.

The tunic I am given, if it can be called that, is of a lightweight linen and open on the sides save for a few ties to hold it together.

I put everything back in its bowl or on its tray. I sit on a nearby bench and I go about the business of twisting my hair.

I open the primer I brought with me while I do it.

***

“Why do you have a children’s book, my lady?”

I look over to see a toe-headed young girl, in a finer version of the bathing tunic, drilling her foot into the tile.

“I am learning your alphabet.”

“Aren’t you a little _old_ to be learning our alphabet?”

I chuckle. “Yes. But I did not grow up here my little lady.”

“Is that why your hair is funny?”

“Yes, my little lady.”

“Are you pretty where you are from?”

I tilt my head to the side and look up at her while I continue with my hair. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t think I have seen anyone quite like you. Where are you from?”

“I am your friend from Zerrikania.” I incline my head.

“Why are you here?” She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me.

I make like I am covering a sneeze when I’m really trying to hide my smile. “Why, I am bathing, and reading while I am doing my hair, my little lady.”

She stomps her foot. “Why are you in _my_ city? _Answer me_!”

“Do you mean to say you have not seen my likeness on the notice boards?”

She leans forward and squints her eyes at me. Her hands are still on her hips.

Her eyes go wide. She is quick to school her face. She points to the floor. “I demand you sing a song for me _right now_. You are _my_ friend from Zerrikania so _you_ have to do what _I_ say.”

I nod with all of the solemnity I can muster. “What would my little lady like to hear? I know a number of nursery rhymes…”

“ _Those_ are for babies. You can clearly see that _I_ am _not_.”

I incline my head. “I meant no offense, my little lady.”

She manages a pretty adult version of waving me off. I have to pretend I am about to sneeze again.

“You may want to see an apothecary about those sniffles of yours.”

“I will heed your advice, my little lady, and attend to that once I am done here.”

“I am glad to hear that you choose to take me seriously. On the whole, I find you adults _tiresome_.”

I nod.

A harried young maid appears at the child’s side. “There you are! Mother is looking for you.”

The younger of the pair stomps her foot and points her finger at me. “She won’t sing for me! Make her sing for me!”

I incline my head to this older child. “I am happy to sing for my ladies, but I am at a quandary because I am not sure _what_ I should sing.”

The older child’s eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth. The younger of the two does that impression of an adult waving someone off.

“I am happy to sing for you and your Mother and your Father and your household. In the event this is agreeable to those at its head, please have them send a page to the location where I am performing, and we’ll decide on an appropriate date and time?”

The younger one looks to the older one, who is just staring at me with her hand over her mouth.

The former grabs the latter’s arm. “Bah, you are _useless_! Come, let us go find Mother.”

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, my ladies. I look forward to performing for you and your family.”

The younger one gives me an imperious nod. The older one gives me a quick bow.

The proprietor approaches me as the two young ladies hasten away. He catches me smiling. “They’re adorable. Precocious and harried respectively, but adorable.”

He gives me a weird look. “If you say so, milady.”

“How may I assist you, my lord?”

“A runner came for you. I am to tell you your beloved requests your immediate presence.”

“Are you sure the message is for me?”

He hands me a piece of parchment.

_N—_

_I need you here now._

_E—_

“Is the messenger awaiting my reply?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Tip them well and tell them my message to this so called beloved of mine is _no_. Tell the runner if they are uncomfortable relaying the message, that they can speak to whoever is attending to this so called beloved of mine and I will be satisfied.”

The proprietor gives me a bow and I go back to reading and twisting my hair.

***

“I have a funny story, my audience. Do you want to hear it?”

I walk over to Callonetta and make a bit of a production about asking her a question and being outraged at her reply.

“My lover is annoying me. He has sent a runner about every half hour since I broke my fast this morning, _demanding_ my presence now that he is feeling better.”

“Why did you not go to him?” This, from a laborer near the window.

“I am not without a heart, but I have things to do!” I motion to my guitar and proclaim, “I have songs to practice! I have music to arrange! _I_ cannot spin straw into gold, and _he_ doesn’t have goats who give bouillon! _One_ of us needs to make money while the other recovers! And sending _twenty-two_ runners is _expensive_! What is he _thinking_?”

“He isn’t thinking!”

“…With the big head!”

_Laughter._

“I tell him I will come tonight. But he is impatient, and it is _cooling_ my enthusiasm for our reunion.”

I stand and I just jump around a little and act like I’m shaking off rain from my person. “ _Twenty-two_ , my audience!” I shake my head.

And I break into my first song about just needing to shake it out.

When I finish that song, I go right into one about going through it and keeping my head up.

***

“So, my audience, shall I play an encore, or shall I no longer delay and go see him?”

_Go!_

_Twenty-two though, are ye daft!_

_He loves you!_

_You need to be able to pay the bills!_

_He needs to be patient!_

_He don’t hear her crooning!_

I wave my hands to quiet down the debate. “For those of you who want me to go now, say aye!”

There are quite a few.

“For those of you who want me to make him wait, say aye!”

These edge out the former.

I smile. “The ladies and those who want an encore have it!”

So I sing about reuniting after some time apart.

***

_They’ve cleaned the area up._

_They’ve given him a palette._

_They’ve bathed him._

_They have trimmed his hair and nails._

_They have given him a shave._

_They have given him a clean tunic and pants._

I _step to_ him. I slap him _hard_ across the face. I _step back_ to where I was standing and glower at him while he cups his left cheek.

_I don’t even care that my hands and wrists are burning._

“I want you to think _really hard_ about what I did just now. I want you to think _really hard_ about _why_.” I turn away.

“Nicole— _Nicki_ —please! “

I turn back around. “Do you have _any_ idea what it was like seeing you like _that_?”

“ _Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you_ die, _Nicki_?”

“ _I had a contingency plan.”_

“ _You could have fucking_ told me _!”_

_“And what would you have done?”_

He turns away from me and rakes his fingers through his hair.

“ _Someone_ needed to draw and lay down suppressive fire, Eskel. _I_ was best equipped to do that.”

He stands with his back to me, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I got you _out_ , Eskel. That was _the_ primary objective. _It_ _always_ _was_.”

He spins. “ _You could have come_ _with us_. _With me!_ ”

“ _And who should I have sacrificed for that to happen, hmmm?”_ I shake my head. “I took a calculated risk. And look! _I’m still here and it fucking paid off_.”

He _lunges_ at me and strains forward as far as the chains allow. I continue to glare at him over crossed arms, just out of reach.

He tests both the length and the strength of the chains. He rolls his wrists to test the hinges of his shackles. I don’t move.

“Oh, Nicki. Oh, _my Nicki_. “

Regis clears his throat and says, “Excuse me, milady, but it is time for our friend here to have another dose of his medicine.”

I scowl. “I thought I was giving him a dose of that just now.”

“Nicole. That isn’t very sporting of you.”

“I’m not in a very sporting kind of mood right now, Regis.”

Regis brushes past me and hands Eskel a small bottle. “My lady, I do not mean to be indelicate and please pardon the intrusion upon your privacy…”

“You had the occasion to retrieve certain items from my room, Regis. Zerrikania was but one stop in a _very_ long journey.”

He smiles and bows his head.

“Nicki, _was that wise_?”

“ _You’re_ scolding _me,_ Eskel?”

He lunges at me again. I just shake my head.

“Regis. Unshackle me, please.”

I scoff, “Like _you’re_ in any condition to fight, Eskel.”

His grin is _eager_.

Regis interjects, “Your request, my lord, is most unwise.”

“And I’m not the one who has been spending _my_ time languishing in brothels _tripping balls_.”

I should be weakened enough for you to take me.”

I turn my back to him and I remove my coat. I drape this over the railing. I unwind the wraps from my hands; I stretch and flex them. “Do you understand the meaning of what I do, Eskel?”

I turn back around.

He nods. “I have ‘home turf advantage’, Nicole.”

“And I’m aware of your plays.”

He stares at the neckline of my vest. “Oh, my Nicki.” He licks his lips, “Oh, _my Nicki_ am I going to _enjoy_ this.”

***

When the gate closes behind me, I address the doctor and Regis. “You may wish to stand away from the bars. This will get _nasty_.”

I toss the man my silver sword while I keep my iron. I roll my shoulders and I loosen my wrists. “What are your terms, Eskel?”

“Last Man Standing.”

I snuff out all of the light nearby and laugh as I _step into_ the shadows.

***

 _The clash of steel_.

“I’m surprised you remember anything I’ve taught you.”

 _The advances_.

“I must say that I’m disappointed you tied up the front of your vest, Nicki.”

_The feints._

_The counters._

“You’ll live.”

_The circling._

_The jabs and kicks._

“You were a little slow on that last parry, Eskel. Are you tiring already?”

He rushes me.

_The throws._

I parry, bump him, and _step to_ him sideways. I toss him over my hip.

_The grunts._

_The swearing._

“You’re right, my Nicki. You haven’t been sitting idle.”

“A woman has to make a living.”

I _go in_.

_The casting of signs._

He leaps to his feet. A jet of flames arcs from his hand at me.

I call and hold my kinetic shield.

“How long can you keep this up?”

I grunt. “As long as it takes.”

I channel _more_ of my rage. I ask more of the energy around me to come to my hand.

I tune it to block out more of the heat.

I take one halting step toward him.

I take another.

I adjust the _flow_ and I continue to advance toward him. “Question is, how long can _you_ , Eskel?”

He grins at me.

 _There is a flash of light_.

 _There is a pulse through the air_.

 _Aaaand_ the next thing _I_ know, I’m on my back.

My ears are ringing and I’m having a hard time breathing.

I go to roll out of the way or to leap to my feet, but my limbs aren’t responding as they should.

He walks over to me and kicks the sword out of my hand.

He leans over and grabs me by the front of my vest and brings me nearly to my feet.

His smile is triumphant.

His smile is lustful.

He brings my face up to his. He is gentle when he brushes his lips against mine. “I _win_.” He whispers.

***

“Can you stand, my Nicki.”

I try to move my legs: They’re nothing but pins and needles. I go to respond, but all I can do is croak. I glare at him and shake my head, but this makes the ringing in my ears and the dizziness worse.

His grin widens. He scoops me up and calls to the others. Something about stashing our weapons as he carries me through the gate.

His chest does that deep rumble thing.

“ _Gods_. _The feel of you, my Nicki_.”

_Is he trembling?_

He squeezes my shoulder and the side of my leg. “I never thought you’d be in my arms again.”

I flop my head over and I see we’re about even with the gurney near his alcove.

He lays me down on top of it. “I don’t want to let you go, but I _must_ , now.”

He cups my cheek and runs his thumb across my lips.

***

_The clink of interlocking rings and the movement of metal plates._

_Authority. Haste. Antipathy. Scorn._

“…Shouting shouldn’t be coming from _the morgue_ , doctor,”

“… Injured and overwrought, “

Something, something _hysteria_.

 _Authority leans over me_.

I open my eyes.

Fur-lined cloak leans over me. “Why greetings, _Zerrikania_.”

I nod. I wince.

“Did I not warn you about causing trouble on my watch?”

I nod.

“Are you saying I didn’t?”

I croak. “Aye, you warned me at the Gate of the Hierarch, sir.”

“Guard captain, as you can see my patient— “

Fur-lined cloak backhands me with his mailed fist.

 _Violets, cinnamon, and seawater bloom in my mouth_.

He grabs me by the throat and _leans in_. My vision goes spotty and narrow. “If you cause another disturbance on my watch again, I’ll make sure you will _never_ be able to perform _anything_ for _anybody_. _Do you understand me?_ ”

I nod very slowly. He releases my throat.

***

I am sitting on the edge of the palette in irons. Eskel stands with the doctor and Regis, near the railing across from me.

And _guess who_ is looking _particularly_ smug?

I croak, “We’ll need to send word to… “

“A runner has been sent to inform your friends of the current predicament, my lady.”

The doctor asks, “My lady, may I examine your neck and throat?”

I nod.

He walks over and lifts my chin up and turns my head from side to side. He sets his fingers on my Adam’s apple. “Can you swallow for me three times, please?”

I oblige the man. He steps back. “We will need something… “

Regis holds out a small bottle to the doctor. “This should help with any swelling and will provide some internal soothing to the affected area.”

The doctor takes the bottle from Regis and walks it over to me. I lift it, toast them, and shoot it.

I have to keep my hand over my mouth to keep from spitting it out—or throwing it back up. “ _Holy shit balls_ , does _that_ taste like the _ass end of a dog_.”

“And you would know what _that_ tastes like, _how_?” Eskel is _vibrating_ with laughter.

I glare at the man and say, “I’d throw this here bottle at you, but I think the doctor and Regis would get mad.”

I hold the bottle out to the doctor in question. He takes this from me and is _quick_ to retreat to the railing.

Regis smiles. “It is clear that the two of you have much to discuss. We shall take our leave.”

He motions over to the tray he has converted to his worktable. “Eskel, if you would be so kind as to administer one of those bottles every three hours, or as needed, until they are all empty?”

 _There are_ four _bottles_.

He nods. “It will be my _pleasure_ , Regis.”

_Fucking hell._

_Fucking men_.

***

The band collar tied around my bruised throat feels too constricting. I turn away from the man _gloating_ by the railing and start working apart the toggles and buttons along the neck of my vest.

“Oh no you don’t.”

I flip him off and keep working.

He is kneeling behind me and has a hold of my tethers before my bird can land.

“My throat is bruised. My collar hurts. Don’t get excited.”

He whispers in my ear, “ _Much_ too late for that, my Nicki.”

I sigh.

“Either I get to watch you, or I get to do it. Your choice.”

“And what if I just stop what I’m doing?”

He whispers, “Do you really think I mind pressing into you, holding your hands apart, and speaking quietly into your ear—and _after all this time_?”

_There’s that pull behind my belly button._

_God damn it._

“How do you want to watch me?”

He rests his hands on top of mine and sits up a little bit taller behind me. “This is fine.”

 _There’s no mistaking exactly how_ ‘fine’ _he is with this._

While I undo the toggles down my chest, he runs his thumbs over newly exposed skin.

I stop mid-sternum.

He laces his fingers through mine, wraps my arms and his around the bottom of my ribcage, and gives me a fierce embrace while he rocks me.

This also has the secondary effect of lifting my bosom _up_.

“Eskel?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m still fucking pissed off at you.”

He whispers, “I _know_.”

“Then?”

“I have questions and unpleasant answers, too.”

***

_Heartbreak. Isolation. Desolation._

_Grief._

_Rage. Apathy._

_Escape. Dreaming._

_Clinging to memory. Fading memory._

_Grasping fear._

_Pleading. Reaching._

_Seeking solace._

_Chasing the solace._

_The desire for the torment to stop._

_The desire for numbness._

_The desire for silence._

_The desire for oblivion._

***

_Uncertainty._

_Waiting. And waiting. And waiting._

_And waiting and waiting and waiting._

_Unadulterated joy!_

_Agony!_

_Burning!_

_Being bound and_

_Bargaining. Begging. Boredom._

_Pleading. Pleading. Pleading._

_Withholding. Secrecy. Insults._

_Resentment._

***

He lays down on his back, tucking his hands behind his head. “Now that I look back, our… Mutual friends tried to tell me—or at least hint—that you weren’t lost. I think that is why they spent the Winter with me.” His chuckle is bitter. “I _resented_ them for it and for their attempts to keep your memory alive for me.”

“Do you remember anything from the night I found you?”

“Other than the girl was quick to leave the room, once you entered.”

“You looked and smelled like _shit_.”

He starts to speak but thinks better of it and stops himself.

“Difficult to be enthusiastic under those conditions. She took my intrusion for the opportunity it was.“

He glowers at me. “I wasn’t going to force the girl.”

_So. Many. Słoń._

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

He locks eyes with me. “I _remembered_ your lean. I _remembered_ how we used to… The way we _talk_ to each other. I _remembered_ the swearing. I thought I was hearing things when you spoke of…”

I smile. “That was deliberate.”

“The signed play bill… Your likeness plastered all over the city…”

He goes from looking everywhere to tearing his eyes away from me. “I…”

I cup his cheek. “I _know_.”

He turns into my hand for a moment, but his look becomes wary. “The doctor and this Regis are both knowledgeable in their given avocations and interests.”

“The doctor was vouched for. I do not know this Regis.”

His eyes narrow. It is my turn to look away.

“ _Nicole_.”

I take a few deep breaths. “I am learning things work _much_ differently here.”

 _Yearning_.

He glances down.

_Oh no. Oh no no no._

“Do the words ‘ _bean leighis liath_ ’ or ‘ _snáithe siúlóir_ ’ or ‘ _cainníocht anaithnid_ ’ mean anything to you?”

He shakes his head.

“The one who provided the wraps referred to me as such. We did not part on good terms.”

He chuckles. “Why am I not surprised?”

“They were… Not gentle. I returned the favor.”

He sobers. “Do they live, my Nicki?”

I shrug. “ _That_ one enjoys being in my debt about as much the song I sang to him. I was removed from my holding cell and… Set free after that.”

 _Silence_.

_Fear._

“What distresses you?”

“May I ask if they were elven?”

“Yes, you may.”

He gives me _that_ familiar look and says, “Barbs, Nicole.”

_That tug again._

“Yes, they were elven.”

He pales. “Do you remember _where_ you were held?”

I try to remember. I shake my head. “It was always twilight when I looked through the bars on the window.”

***

He smiles and his eyes darken. I look down at where he is looking.

I reach for the ribbons of my chemise. He clasps my hands in his and shakes his head. “ _My Nicki,_ may I?”

I nod my consent and rest my hands in his forearms. He loosens the ribbons further and pushes my chemise open.

He gives me a wicked grin. “How could I forget the jewelry?”

He gives the pendant in my nipple a gentle pull. I gasp. I _harden_.

His smile widens. “Do you know how _good_ you scent is _right now_?”

 _Oh. Fuck_.

“ _Please_?”

I cannot refuse _this_ man a request when he asks in _that_ tone.

 _He_ _knows_ this. _I_ know this.

_I am caught between love, desire, and anger._

“You may, Eskel.”

He rolls me on my back and exposes both of my breasts to the cold air and goes about the erotic business of worshiping them.

***

“Thank you, _my Nicki_.”

“You’re welcome, _my Eskel_.”

He shudders and licks his lips. “I never thought I’d ever hear those words again.”

“Well, now you have.” I smile.

He makes that rumbling noise in his chest. He grabs himself. “Touch me, please, my Nicki.”

I place my hand upon him.

“Show me what you want me to do.” I lean into him, kiss him, and smile while I stroke him in the rhythm of what I’m doing with my mouth.

He grabs me by the hair at the nape of my neck and pulls me away. I close my eyes and moan.

“Please, my Nicki. Give me what _I want_ and I promise I will give you what _you want_.”

“Really?”

His grin is fierce again. “Really, really.”

***

We kiss deeply after he has finished and after I have finished on my own.

He plays with my nipples. I run my fingers along his bare flesh.

He grabs my hand and continues to remind me of what he likes. “I dreamed of _this_ , my Nicki. I dreamed of your kiss and your tongue and your mouth and your touch and your _fucking_ fire.”

I tease him _just so_. He gasps and smiles.

“When did you know, my Eskel?”

He chuckles as he quivers beneath my hand. “The morning you told me the nickname you gave me and traded quips with me.”

I tilt my head. “Who was in on it?”

He chuckles.

“The _entire_ time?”

His grin widens. “That night when you came back late and in your motorcycle gear?”

“Which time?”

He pulls on my jewelry in the way that I like. “That time you met with Fox and sidestepped the Hound. You were fiercer and more certain than I had come to know. I wanted to _take_ you _right there_ , _right then_ , on the kitchen floor… Help you celebrate…”

“I… _Noticed_.”

“I wanted to show you that I was deserving of the nickname and that I was glad I hadn’t fucked things up beyond all recognition.”

I blush a little bit. “The term you are looking for is _fubar_.”

His laughter is filled with wonder and delight. “If I wasn’t already certain, your correction of my slang… _Gods, my Nicki_. I know how far that blush extends…“

“You know it is completely involuntary.”

“I know the nuances and its variants.”

My blush deepens.

He is on top of me and between my legs. He rubs himself along my clit. “When we do this, I cannot promise I will be gentle the first time around. I want you too much to take my time.”

He pulls my wrists even with my shoulders and holds them there. “You’re _alive_. You’re _here_. You’re _shackled_. You can _withstand_ my _full attention_. You’re responsive and enthusiastic. Your scent is intoxicating and I know _your taste will be_.”

He smiles into me as he licks and nibbles my breasts. He looks up at me. “I have been too long without my companion.”

 _He does the rumbling thing in his chest_.

“I _know_ the sound reminds _you_ of _me_.”

_I tremble._

“I _enjoy_ you and your response to _me_. I _never_ want to let you go again. Because I _fucking_ _love_ you.”

I arch up into him and run promises along the length of him. “Not exactly what I was expecting or had in mind, but let’s do this, Eskel.”

His hands are already undoing the ties at my waist. My hands are already pulling his pants further down his hips and thighs.

***

“You’re _mine_ , my Nicki. I claim you.” He whispers, his fingers playing in time with the jewelry in my hood. I writhe beneath him. He smiles into my neck while he keeps plucking and flicking.

I am on the edge. “Eskel, just give me the release I’ve been building, and I’ll promise you…”

He keeps me there. “What will you promise me, my Nicki?”

I am without speech at the moment. He backs off, just enough to keep it interesting.

“ _Stay_ with me, my Nicki.”

_Fuuuuuck._

“Will you take, wherever you go, and as long as I am alive, I will find my way to you?”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at me and _frowns_.

_Fuuuuuck._

“ _That_ , I can promise you, Eskel. _No more_.”

He continues to frown at me.

“I found you, _now_. I found you _despite being delayed_. _I will find you again_ and _fuck_ destiny.”

He is somber and silent as he searches my face. It is a long time before he gives me a slow nod and says, “I need to hear you say it, my Nicki.”

“Do we _really_ need to do this again?”

He remains still. “I need to hear you say it in _this_ place and in _this_ context.”

It is my turn to flip him over.

“I, Nicole, claim you my Eskel. I give my consent. I do this of my own free will. I will honor and cherish you for as long as I am able and for as long as I am willing. You had me with the coffee always ready in my kitchen, by the words Jaye spoke to me that night on the porch, and by the bonds we forged over time in my homeland.”

I don’t know if he can see what I am seeing or feel what I feel when I finish my vow.

His mouth, teeth, tongue, hands, and cock inform me he might.

We are both urgent and swollen.

We are both primed.

We are both frantic.

We both take turns.

We both are aggressive and yielding with each other.

We both stroke and suck and fuck each other _multiple_ times.

And _we keep going_.

***

**VI.**

“Step away from the prisoner, _sir_.”

The argument awakens me. I inhale. Eskel’s chest hair tickles my nose and I stifle my sneeze.

_There are seven more._

_They are just starting their rotation._

_The eldest is closest to where we are on the palette._

_He is the Authority._

_Violent intention is escalating._

I place a gentle kiss on his chest. He does not move.

I put my arms around his neck and tap twice.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and we stand together at the edge of the palette.

He kisses me gently as he steps to my left and takes a position against the wall.

I turn so my bare back is in full view of the patrol behind me.

_Unease. Disgust. Wonder. Dismay. Curiosity._

“By _Melitele_!”

I address an officious and long-faced man in black damask over my left shoulder, “May I finish dressing, sir?”

_There is no de-escalation._

_Christ_.

“An explosion. It killed four of my scouting unit and a fifth lost limbs. Now, _please sir_. May I finish dressing?”

The youngest is pushed forward. He fumbles with the keys. His hands shake as he tries to find the correct key to unlock my shackles.

“Stop gawking at her tits, scrub.”

“But she’s got jewelry in them, sir! I ain’t ever seen—“

“—she could have the Hierarch himself suckling there like a newborn babe for all I care. When I give you an order, you do it _immediately_ and _without hesitation_.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

The boy nearly drops the keys. He bobs his head to apologize, but this puts him about eye level with said jewelry.

“You’d best do what he says, lad, and _hurry_. The lash is no joke and ignoring the orders of a superior officer is a _serious_ matter, even if you are intrigued by the tits in front of you.”

 _“Nicole_!”

I glance over my shoulder. “By the look on his face, you’re about to get a few more lashes added to the count.”

He finishes and scurries back to his position and gets cuffed behind the ear for his efforts.

I am slow and deliberate when I walk over to where my chemise, vest, hosen, pants, and small clothes lay in the corner. I dress and adjust.

I turn around. “What can I do for you, sir?”

I make sure long-face sees the cut on my lip and the bruising on my neck.

***

I palm Regis a slip of paper when I pass the last bottle back to him.

I retrieve my hand wraps and begin winding them around my wrists.

I turn to long-face. “You have just heard the opinions of both the treating physician and the consulting alchemist, sir. I do not wish for my presence and current distress to disturb others.”

Long face goes on a _tear_. And a really _colorful_ one.

“I don’t know, sir. I always thought the terms were _klootzak or blöde fotze._ ”

“ _Nicole!_ ”

The other six in the squad look at me wide-eyed for a moment. The boy is agape.

Long face spins, arms at parade rest and says, “I understand a little bit better why you have marks on your person, _my lady_.”

He calls for the boy to come forward again.

“It is good you are learning the language of your betters. The scrub will put you back in irons for your insolence.”

I hold my hands out in front of me. The boy completes his task without delay this time.

Long face continues, “You would refuse the invitation to recover more comfortably?”

I incline my head. “I was not aware that Nilfgaard had the authority to override an order given by the City Watch _or_ the Temple Guard.”

His gaze hardens. “Remain here in the morgue with the dead for company and _rot_ for all I care you _insolent bitch_.”

“First, I’m a _cunt_ and now I’m a _bitch_? Make up your _blöde_ mind, _sir_.”

He inhales. He raises and lowers himself on his toes. “This is why we are winning the war, my lady. We value and _enforce_ discipline.”

He snaps his fingers twice.

The other six men grab the boy and toss him over the railing.

I hear the scream.

I hear the snap.

“It is of little concern. He is not a true Nilfgaardian and he blasphemed.”

I keep my face neutral.

“I will take your refusal of our invitation to our superior officer. It is unfortunate that he is not as kind as I am and will not take the information well.”

“I look forward to _his_ visit, then, _sir_.”

***

I am gripping the railing across from the alcove. My knuckles are white. “Should we retrieve and attend to the body?”

Regis says from his worktable, “We wait, my lady.”

“Look at me. All of you.”

Their attention pricks along my skin.

“I have silver in my ears. I have steel and poisoning metal in my body from the old injury. I just left iron shackles. I wear wraps of elven make on my hands. And for all that _, I was helpless to prevent the meaningless death of a sick boy_.”

I shake my head. I can’t keep the disgust off my face. “And I _hate_ that I am okay with that, if it meant that I just bought _all of us_ more time.”

Eskel approaches me from behind. He sets his hands on top of mine and kisses me behind my ear. “Always looking out for people, even when they may not deserve it, my Nicki.”

I choke back a sob. “You are not the first person to say those exact words to me, my Eskel.”

 _I miss you, Albert_.

I lean back into him as he wraps his arms about my waist. I accept the comfort he gives.

“My lord, I need to escort you to your room at the hospital.” The doctor beckons Eskel to follow.

He holds me tight. “I do not wish to leave you so soon.”

I choke back another sob. “After so long, what is a day?”

He chuckles as he lifts me from the floor. “Oh, how much I have missed your mind, even when it frustrates me.”

I smile. “I love you, too, Eskel.”

He sets me down and he sets his hands on my shoulders. I turn around to face him.

“Try not to do anything _rash_ between now and before I see you tomorrow, my Nicki.”

I shrug.

***

“I appreciate your timely arrival, and both sets of tonics. The note was a surprise.”

Regis goes still. He measures me for a long moment before he inclines his head and says, “You are most welcome, Nicole.”

“Do you have what I requested with you?”

He nods and holds out a small funnel, a small scalpel, a small metal tube, and a stoppered bottle. There is a shimmering liquid inside the last.

“Will doing what I must do cause you any distress?”

 _Silence_.

“I would not have asked you here if you were like the man whose condition you were asked to consult upon or among those who are workers and servants within the morgue and hospital.”

 _More Silence_.

“I ask again, my lord, will doing what I must do cause you distress?”

“No, my lady and additional precautions will not be necessary. Given our meeting spot and the _zeal_ of the local church, I doubt they have the means or desire to scry upon us.”

I smirk. “Funny how zeal and a certain amount of narrow-sightedness go hand in hand.”

He inclines his head but a moment.

“I made this request of you because if there is anyone who can understand whatever resides in blood, there must be those among you who may know. I also believe you will be rigorous when it comes to accepting or rejecting hypotheses.”

His gaze intensifies. “The lack of wounds upon your hands and wrists begs a lingering question both the doctor and I had the night we found you passed out near our guest.”

“I read his letters. I _… Perceived_ the rot taking hold in his body. With any luck, his physical dependence and tolerance to the drug is broken. But for whatever medical knowledge I possess, I have little knowledge of what is taught here.“

He nods. “I suspected as much, my lady.”

“Then?”

“What is the protocol where you are from?”

I sigh. I shake my head. “I should have picked another location so I wouldn’t have to…”

The doctor materializes out of thin air. He does not wear his cossack. He wears a leather jerkin over a collared linen shirt, tucked into a pair of breeches. He wears hosen tied at the knee and a pair of fine cobbled shoes. He inclines his head. “My Lady.”

I incline my head and acknowledge him. I turn back to Regis. “Right then. _Protocol_. Short version: Administer an antidote, monitor, and manage the withdrawal symptoms during the acute phase. Sub-acute care can include the administration of partial agonists or antagonists under the supervision of a physician or specially trained surgeon, titrating doses down based on patient response. Aftercare can include continued weaning off all formulations, social and behavioral modification, and on-going support. There is no cure. Only management. Relapse is frequent.”

 _Silence_.

I undo the wrap on my left hand. I undo the ribbons of my right sleeve and roll it past my bicep. I take the wrap and make a tourniquet of it just above my elbow.

I curl my wrist a number of times while I reach into the pouch, I have dedicated to first aid. I pull out and unwrap a syringe. I reach over to palpate for a vein near my elbow.

A little pinch. I fill the syringe. I hold it out to Regis while I lift my arm above the level of my heart.

Regis takes the syringe from me, removes, the stopper from the bottle, and depresses the plunger.

I hold my hand out for the syringe. He shakes his head.

“Then _destroy_ it after you are done with it, Regis.” I _push_ , I _pluck_ , and I burn the syringe wrapper into nothing.

Regis and the doctor stare at me.

I clear my throat again. “Right then. _More_ Protocol. Short version: Sterile needles, sterile tubes, sterile plungers, sterile syringes, and clean hands per patient. Light pressure on the affected vessel, and elevation of the area above the heart to help the blood clot once the tourniquet is removed. “

The doctor nods. Regis shoots him a look I can’t define and shakes his head slightly.

***

Regis breaks the silence, “I have more questions, my lady.”

“Shoot.”

_I crack myself up._

“Your companion made a remarkable recovery after we found you unconscious next to him. Blood was present on your blade and along your wrist. Dried blood was present on his lips and chin.”

“A ritual and a prayer, _sir_. Nothing more.”

“Blood magic is taboo, even among those who study the magical arts.”

“Accidents happen, my lords. This one happened to be lucky—or one of the gods decided to pay attention.”

“You _blaspheme_ , my lady.”

I snort. “I seem to be walking, talking, _breathing_ _blasphemy_ here, my lord.”

Regis smiles. The doctor is unchanged.

“You are… Different than others of your ilk and the man who now pines for you in the hospital.”

I nod. “I have reversible precautions in place.”

Regis’ eyes sharpen. “A moment, my lady. Do you mean?”

“ _I can_.”

Regis steps to me. “ _Why do you still live?_ ”

I laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? _I don’t belong here and neither do you_.”

He takes a number of steps back from me and holds out a hand. “I require a moment to recover myself, my lady.” The doctor walks over and keeps Regis busy with quiet conversation.

_Neither are pleased._

“I _just_ gave you a bargaining chip, Regis. All I ask is that you come to me with what you find—or give me fair warning.”

He can’t quite look at me and the pair switch to yet another language I do not understand.

I pass the time by taking inventory.

“I must say, Nicole, this wasn’t the conversation I was anticipating.” Regis tucks the bottle in the satchel he carries across his shoulder.

_I didn’t hear them approach._

“We can have a philosophical conversation about destiny, prophecy, and free will, if it pleases you.”

I address the doctor, “Or we could have a discussion about other field techniques and protocols in common use where I’m from and in more detail.”

Regis laughs and inclines his head. The doctor’s expression remains neutral.

Regis asks, “Tell me, Nicole, is there anything you would do differently?”

“I would have made a better bargain, sir.”

“My lady, that was rather short-sighted of you.” He tuts.

“To my discredit, Regis, I never thought I’d be in _this_ place, on top of a covered bridge thirty meters in the air, while chatting with two members of the vampire community either.”

_Surprise._

It is the doctor who asks, “You would call us a community?”

“What else should I call you and your kin, _my lord_?”

***

**VII.**

I unwrap my hands and I tuck the bands of cloth in my belt pouch laying on the gurney.

I pour water into the basin and go about the simple business of washing my hands and face. I reach for the small bottle of mouthwash Regis prepared for me—a simple of essential oils and what tastes like baking soda in spring water.

I rinse. I spit. I toss the gray water over the railing.

I step around the corner, so that I am on the other side of the wall from the alcove. There are gurneys on three sides, all are empty.

I stand in the middle of the area. I turn my left hand palm up and leave my right one palm down.

I lower a number of my new filters and I _push_.

Finding tendrils is easy enough. I perceive them as something that moves like sea foam.

They ebb and flow and expand and contract.

They pop and don’t completely disappear, _which is weird_.

They smell like raspberries, _which is even weirder_.

I ask for some of them to come to me, and they do, and I ask what I have to return as they were, and they do.

I practice this asking and returning.

I figured out that asking helps ensure symmetry and that trying to force it in a direction it doesn’t want to go, or if there’s asymmetry, or if I don’t respect the constraints of time and transmutation—things tend to _explode_.

I figured out that the symbols I saw among the few books I managed to steal are varying representations of these symmetric alignments in two dimensions.

I figured out it isn’t the two-dimensional shape that holds the power. Drawing a shape on the floor with chalk or tracing a figure in the air isn’t enough. There _has_ to be an exchange.

I become aware of a presence to my left and above me. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

_Mirth._

“You need to end it and return, Nicole.”

“I have no desire to do either.”

_Amusement._

“I know.”

“Then _why_ are we having this conversation again?”

_More mirth._

_More amusement._

***

I rub my wrists after my shackles are removed. The soldier who met us with the lantern at the gate is in front of me _fuming_.

He spits at my feet. “I said to me mates, ‘She’ll stay in them chains ‘til Nilfgaardians learn to fly.’ Imagine my surprise when one o’ me mates tells me he saw the boy _fly_ over the railing last night.”

I remain silent and keep my face neutral.

“You are free to return to your rooms at the inn. You are _not_ free to leave this city.”

***

With Lantern and his buddy Without Lantern lead a combined escort of City and Temple Guard.

I greet and wave to people who recognize me.

There are smiles. There is cheering.

There are questions and the squad is kind enough to slow their march along the route.

The people ask me where my guitar is. They ask me if I can fight, too, and what it’s like.

_How do I tell them war is war and worse than hell because innocence is collateral damage?_

_How do I tell them I’d rather_ not _know?_

I tell them we fight with what we are given and make the best of it.

Mothers allow their children to approach when they want to. Some children still hide their faces in their mother’s skirts not out of fear this time, but because they are a little bashful.

The local high lords and ladies look upon me with equal parts curiosity and interest.

Priests sometimes bless me when I pass. If not, they bless their brethren-in-arms.

Other guards don’t say much to me. Some nod. Some motion that they’re still watching me.

I give a couple of coins to the beggars I see on the way back.

This route through the city is far, far more direct then my first one.

***

I only have eyes for the man I see sitting at the bar next to the stage. He is chatting up Dandelion and Zoltan, while sipping something out of a tankard.

_I’m going to have to have words about recovery with the other two men._

_And maybe some choice words with my beloved._

_But later._

_One battle at a time._

With Lantern, Without Lantern, and the squad leader walk me into the common room. Dandelion straightens and inclines his head, acknowledging the squad leader. She settles into parade rest, makes the letter “v” sign with both hands. She then brings her right hand in front of each nostril as if she has just plucked and is smelling flowers.

Flowers addresses Dandelion in a French-to-me accent. “The accused is to remain ‘ere and under house arrest, until such time as either The Temple and The City settle upon ‘er charges. These include: Violations of Sumptuary Law, Public Incitement to Indecency, Inducing Lust and Indecent Acts and Thoughts, and Wielding Arms without Sanction.”

Dandelion pulls out a roll of parchments from a scroll case at his waist, and hands these to Flowers. He also palms a small coin purse to her.

“I am certain you will find that Our Zerrikanian Friend has the proper permits to carry and wield arms and that she is a member of a number of professional performance guilds. You and your superiors may wish to review the appendices.”

 _As silly as the man appears, maybe I should give him_ more _credit._

I shake my head to focus a moment, “ _Madame? Qu’est-ce qui se passe? Comment-moi je vous remercer?_ ”

She stiffens in shock.

Dandelion turns on the charm and steps in front of me. “Please relay our thanks and I look forward to our next reading of “ _The Liberation of R—_?”

This commanding officer flushes and nods to Dandelion.

She turns heel and marches toward the front entrance. She stops at the door and addresses me over her shoulder. “ _Il va falloir que tu apprennes à la fermer! Voulez-vous apporter des ennuis a notres demesnes_?”

“Forgive my impudence.” I bow. “I appreciate your discretion and I am at your disposal.”

She glances at Dandelion before she addresses me. “ _C’est votre cul, demoiselle_.”

***

Zoltan shakes his head while he takes another swig from his tankard. “Your Temerian accent is atrocious, lass.”

“And how many Temerians have we had the occasion to chat in depth with in our haste to get _here_?”

He frowns into his drink.

“My Nicki, you need to be _far_ more careful.”

“My Eskel, can we get to the part where we are overjoyed at seeing each other again, before we have _more_ difficult discussions?”

He chuckles as he stands with his arms open.

_He doesn’t have to tell me twice._

My arms are about his waist and he is cradling my head against his neck.

He puts his chin atop my head for a moment, “The Griffin?”

“It’s as good an explanation as any.”

He crushes me against him and rocks me.

Dandelion clears his throat behind me. “Yes, Dandelion. I don’t like the sound of those charges, either.”

“You have a _following_ , my dear.”

I turn my head and rest my right cheek along Eskel’s collar bones. “I didn’t intend—”

Dandelion’s arms are akimbo, and he is frowning. “—thirteen songs, over the course of _an hour_ , Nicole.” He cocks his head. “Did you not _hear_ or _see_ what was happening below you?”

“I was playing for _me_ , Dandelion.”

“My dear, as a vocal performer I am aware of the acoustics in and around the inn. It is why I was delighted when it became mine. However, the _barbarians_ who run this city refuse to understand there is a way to exploit the _natural_ without crossing over into the _magical_.”

 _Shit_.

“My apologies, Dandelion “

He laughs and waves me off. “Apologize? I did a _volume_ business that night as did _everyone in my employ_.”

Zoltan wipes the foam from his upper lip. “The situation remains delicate, lass.”

I bury my face in Eskel’s chest. He strokes my back.

Zoltan continues, “Lad, if you’d seen what she was wearin’ the second day while she went about the city…”

I turn my head and address the dwarf. “Are we _still_ stuck on _that_?”

Zoltan is stern. “ _I’m_ not the one facing a _variety_ of Indecency charges.”

“ _That_ may not matter. None of _this_ may _matter_.”

It is Eskel’s turn to lean back from me; his eyes search my face. “Your meaning, my Nicki?”

_Fuck._

“Traveling through Zerrikania, avoiding Nilfgaardian encampments and patrols, avoiding or dispatching bandits, avoiding or dispatching other unfriendlies, all the while following what leads we could find…”

“How long do we have, Nicki?”

“ _I don’t know_.”

Eskel lifts my chin to look at him.

_I will not be here long. If I do not see you or if you do not contact what friends you have left by then, I’ll know my journey will be all for naught._

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dandelion and Zoltan freeze.

_Would you have agreed to travel with me had you known, Zoltan?_

_There isn’t much time._

***

_I cannot get within arm’s length of the containment field and I cannot look through it for long._

_I have the window. I have a sheet and coverlet over straw. I have the jacks in the corner with a small stack of thin and supple leaves. I have a small desk and a stool. I have some of the books I brought with me; those covering military history, chemistry, current-to-me manufacturing, irrigation and water pumping techniques were taken from me. I have a globe of glass I can tap to adjust the light in the space as I need it. I have access to fresh water via a pitcher that never empties._

_I have four or five square meters. Still, it is a challenge to get movement in and I am not left with anything that has heft._

_I can’t describe what I am fed. The closest I can come is some sort of grain porridge with vegetables and what I think are eggs in it; sometimes there’s bits of meat and I don’t want to think too hard about its source. This shows up in small batches five times per…_

_I cannot tell the time here. There is no sun and there is no moon, only an inky sky with a stagnant set of stars. I tried to flip my egg timer 288 times when I was well enough to get out of bed; I got to 128 before I gave up._

_They watch me. Sometimes the intersections and the waves align and one of their number stands near the barrier. I threw things at it; sometimes these ricocheted inside my cell, sometimes they disintegrated._

_I began to design experiments to puzzle out what kinds of objects triggered one barrier reaction over another. I didn’t get far with those either; when I closed in on answers, more of my possessions were removed and the nature of containment field would change._

_It didn’t take me long to figure out those changes were both whimsical and cruel. With each change, they were showing me their thinking and their biases—and I learned more about their methods._

***

I bring my finger to my lips. I take a couple of steps back and hold my hands out; my left palm is up and my right one is down.

I close my eyes, I drop my filters, I find the filaments and the foam, and I _ask_. A pattern and a shape form in my mind’s eye, and I focus my intention as I pull down, spin it counter-clockwise, and to the left.

 _Holy fuck_.

I have what I need. I focus and expand the shape until it encapsulates everything within a five-meter radius.

_Everyone is shocked._

“ _Nicole_. Are you trying to get us _killed_?”

I shake my head. “This may give us some privacy, but I don’t know how long I can hold this, Zoltan.”

Dandelion is agape.

“We need a plan and fast.”

***

I wear my most formal costume of green and gold damask with embroidered and beaded silk. My hair is oiled and worn loose down my back. My nails are lacquered, my cosmetics play up my skin tone and my best features, and my ring is on prominent display.

Eskel is seated to my right in a long, buttoned coat of blue and green silk, over striped pants. His nails are buffed and trimmed, he is closely shaved, and his medallion is on prominent display.

_He has far fewer objections to formal clothes than others of our acquaintance._

Our costume marks us as peers with the well-dressed man I have seen twice within these walls.

I didn’t expect him to have his two daughters with him this day.

“Father, I grow bored. Have her sing for us or exile her, I care not.”

Her older sister is horrified at these remarks.

I look to their father and say, “I met your daughters at the bath. I am happy to provide you and your family with a private performance in addition to the business at hand.”

The well-dressed man addresses his elder daughter, “Will you take your sister to the Punch & Judy show, while I discuss arrangements with the Lady Nicole?”

The youngest stomps her foot and says, “Punch & Judy shows are for babies!”

The well-dressed man shakes his head. “If you are to rule one day, you must understand there are layers of meaning among the most banal and mundane things.”

“I am ten summers!”

“You are not too old for me to paddle you and send you to your rooms without supper.”

“Tyrant!”

“I am your father. You disregard me at your peril.”

The well-dressed man snaps his fingers, and a trio of serious-looking servants escorts the children from the building. This is not without some amount of shrieking and protestation from the youngest; the eldest acquiesces and is sullen.

_Mirth._

_Longing._

The well-dressed man looks from my betrothed to me and back. “You do not deserve her, Witcher.”

Eskel envelopes my right hand with his left, squeezes it, and says, “I am thankful for every day we spend in each other’s company.” He relaxes his hand and intertwines his fingers in mine.

I smile at my beloved a moment before returning my attention to the current matter. “When I arrived in this city, I did not expect such a warm reception by its citizens. I wish to repay that kindness.”

“Your vouchers tell a different story.”

“And I have told the _story_ about the desperate seeking of my lost love.”

Eskel picks up my hand, winks at me, and kisses the back of it.

“Your youngest reminded me of my neglect and my mistake. I would make what amends where I can.”

The well-dressed man snorts.

“A Good Faith gesture is in order—”

“—and _I_ am to trust the _faith_ of a blasphemer?”

“Allow me a penance that would save me from the pyre then.”

The well-dressed man bursts out laughing. “Says every blasphemer before they are cleansed.”

_Shit._

_“_ Indulge me then. Allow me to play songs, which praise the Eternal Fire, and which benefit the good works of The Church.”

The well-dressed man shakes his head. “What trickery is this, now?”

“There is none. I will accept my judgment.”

“We do not provide sedation or pain relief before we set the damned alight.”

“I am aware, _sir_.”

He chortles. “You do not have anything in your _repertoire_ that would suffice—”

“—but _you_ do, _sir_.” I interrupt. “There are songs and arrangements, blessed by The Church.”

_Skepticism._

“Allow me to learn them, _sir_.”

The well-dressed man reaches up to his neck and pulls out a clear crystal on a chain from beneath his doublet. He schools his face and tucks the chain back.

He rubs his hands together and says, “Your intentions are registering clean. I will take your words and the proposals of Pankratz to the _proper_ authority. We will answer by Vespers.”

I bow my head.

“You have upset my daughters. They have expressed a desire to have you play for them, but I cannot have one such as you corrupting their young minds.”

I bite my tongue and I bow my head. I pretend not to notice the smeared makeup on his hands, which cover a set of card suits tattooed across his knuckles.

“Good day, madam. Enjoy what freedom you have left to you.”

***

**VIII.**

I am led through an archway into the market square. There are people sitting on roof tops. There are people waving through second story windows. There are people hanging off scaffolding. There are people lining the streets with children on their shoulders and along the barricades jostling each other for a better look.

The eight guards surrounding me are efficient; they hold space between me and the people who duck under railings or who slip by those guards working crowd control.

The first-floor windows lining the square are shuttered. The gates in front of the bank are closed. The nearby forge fires are quenched and the walls within are cleared of all tools. The carts and the stalls have been removed from the immediate area.

The only two things which remain are the raised platform and the burned bodies upstage from where I will be playing.

_I don’t want to ever get over the wanton cruelty here._

The two guards in front of me direct me up the small set of stairs to take my place center stage. They motion for the other six to take their places at intervals in front of and along the sides. The one directing the others does not hide the heavy shackles at his belt as he takes his position.

I keep my hands visible while I unpack the two instruments I will be using during tonight’s performance.

 _“If you won’t allow me to be among you armed, may I wear_ something _to protect myself?”_

_Fur-lined cloak shakes his head. “No, my lady. The terms of your house arrest forbid you from bearing arms and wearing armor within the city limits.”_

_“Who shall protect me from the crowd or a well-placed arrow?”_

_“There will be guards present.”_

_“Can their eyes be everywhere, all at once, sir?”_

_“May I suggest a prayer to the_ correct _god that you come to no harm?”_

I cannot sing or shout over a crowd of hundreds; at minimum, the words will be garbled.

_“How well do the people read? Do they know their letters?”_

_Fur-lined cloak is bent over with laughter. When he is able to catch his breath, he says, “The rabble? Knowing their letters? They’re too busy scratching a living in their clay to bother learning how to scratch shapes on expensive things like vellum.”_

_“Nicole, do they not include pictograms or heraldry with letters in… Zerrikania?”_

_“They do, Dandelion. I am used to a different baseline literacy.”_

_Fur-lined cloak sneers. “That is the trouble with your southern Matriarchies, my lady: You educate everyone and to your detriment.”_

I pick up the first of my two borrowed instruments. I keep my hands from shaking by tuning the strings and testing the action. I keep my feet from fleeing by pacing in a circle.

Shouting and shoving breaks out among those on the ground, lining the square. The guards are spread thin along the barricades and lanes; what they don’t have in numbers, they make up in violence. The people on the scaffolding and roof tops throw things at the guards. Those among the storied windows and balconies watch with detached disdain.

_“Would it be possible to extend the market platform, so that I may walk further out into the crowd?”_

_“For a performance by a_ woman _accused of_ blasphemy _and under suspicion for practicing_ Magic _within the city limits?” Fur-lined cloak shakes his head and chuckles._

_“If not the platform, perhaps a cleared path at key points in front of the stage?”_

_Fur-lined cloak’s answer is more chuckling._

I walk back to center stage and wave for silence—or its approximation. I project as much as I can without straining, “Greetings, Citizens of Novigrad.”

This is followed by sprinkled shushing.

“Thank you for joining us tonight. I am your Zerrikanian Friend—”

_Confusion._

_Concern._

“—with the unpronounceable name!”

_More interrupting and sprinkled shouts of louder!_

“Thank you for coming this eve and please pardon the acoustics.”

_She were louder at the inn!_

_Hush! Can’t hear!_

_What’s going on? What she saying?_

There is more jostling among the people on the ground. There is more shoving by the guards.

“I have a number of songs for you tonight, selected by our own Church of the Eternal Fire and the Lights of Lebioda. Three cheers for their wisdom and guidance in these troubled times!”

_What we cheering?_

_Hush! Here they come!_

At every other window, a member of the merchant class or minor nobility is wrestled away to be replaced by armored men in battle dress; the stock of a crossbow can be seen above the shoulders on every other one.

The first song of twelve chosen for me is an unresolving melody, within one octave and with little transposition. This is simple enough to play.

_Why she playing rest day songs?_

_I came all this way for…_

_Hush! I can’t hear!_

The cheers and applause are stilted when I end the song. Some of the people on the roof tops and among the scaffolding make excuses to their neighbors and turn their backs. Among the storied windows where the guards are not present, the well-heeled shake their heads and walk away. A cascade of shrugged shoulders and confused looks flows through the common folk lining the square and the barricades. There are those among the guards who look deflated when not busy quelling the outbreaks of pushing and shoving near them.

_Fuck._

“Thank you, my friends. It is an honor to bring the messages of our Most Holy to you. Three cheers for our beloved Hierarch!”

Again, the cheers and applause are stilted.

More than a few guards among the windows and on the ground make note of the less-than-exuberant members of the audience.

_How many guards out of uniform will be among the crowd?_

_What do you mean, Nicole?_

_If I had a say in security, there would be at least as many guards out of uniform and among the crowd to report or incite, depending upon the goals of the situation._

_That’s outrageous!_

_Dandelion, they have their interests they want to protect. We have ours._

The second song I play has a resolving melody and a quicker tempo at least.

_Maybe ‘tis better I canna hear._

_Hush! They’re listening!_

No one among the audience claps or taps along. No one makes their excuses and leaves until the song has ended.

_Glad I didna pay any money._

_I liked her original arrangements better._

_This is an outrage! Artistic expression is free!_

_Hush! Use your head for something other than a hat rack._

_Says you. Where you been living at? The sewers? Nilfgaard?_

Jeers titter along the roof tops and among those on the ground.

“Thank you, my audience. Again, I apologize for the acoustics.”

The air vibrates with disappointment from among the people on the ground, in the windows, and along the rooftops.

“You might know my third selection. It is a common song about Lebioda and The Dragon. Do not despair, my audience. I am permitted a more joyous interpretation of the events.”

I stomp and clap a rhythm. I delay the start of the song until more folks on the ground and among the rooftops decide to join in.

I blend this third song about confronting evil with a contemporary-to-me song about gathering and channeling energy toward a common cause.

_I recognize Lebioda. The rest can burn._

By the second repetition of the chorus, curtains among storied windows are pulled aside. The people on the roof tops and on the ground keep rhythm. Some guards nod along or tap a foot. Those among the windows and balconies do not budge and those surrounding me have hands on sword hilts.

I pace and skip in circles near center stage. I scan the rooftops and the windows.

Starting at the outro, there is the boom and sizzle of fireworks; I underpin their tempo and time the remaining part of the song while the display peaks and resolves.

“A gift to all citizens of the city. The Fire and The Light Shall Always Delight.”

_I sign, they’ll arrest me. I amplify, they’ll arrest me. They won’t care if I live or die._

_You underestimate you._

_That’s what we’re counting on, Nicole._

I walk the _citole_ upstage and pack it away in its case, and I try not to think about the twisted and charred bodies staring down at me.

The second instrument I unpack maps with my understanding of a _guitarra morsica_.

A call goes out among the crowd encouraging donations. I underscore the collection with the melody from the giving song I played during the encore of my first and official public performance. Those along the storied windows and the balconies become a little less bored and dismissive. The crowd on the ground put more coin than offal in the boxes.

_I think I can make it convincing._

_You play with fire, my Nicole._

_When have I not drawn it, my Eskel?_

_He scowls. I hate this._

_I know. I love you anyway._

I reach into my vest pocket and I break a small crystal. I ask. I make a sign. I call and expand my will; the edges are within a meter of me. “Thank you for your patience, my audience. Can you hear me now?”

The people on the roof tops cheer. The people among the windows are quick to recover their composure. The pushing and shoving on the ground is renewed; more garbage and offal are flung at the guards, and those carrying the boxes are quick to depart.

“I am an adept of Lebioda. _This,”_ I glance behind me at the burned corpses, “is in stark contrast with the beliefs of my homeland and those who follow here. I have something to say about the difference.”

I plunge into a contemporary-to-me song. I tie it to my desire and where they intersect with those of their Saint.

_I can do no less for you._

The people on the ground, those who line the roof tops, and those who remain along any scaffolding are energized. Barricades are broken and shoved aside, the guards on the ground are overwhelmed, and the stage is rushed. Those guards among the storied windows are wrestled away.

_“Lebioda blessed me with the future and I protect it with fire!”_

“ _Blasphemer!_ ”

_Thunk!_

A bolt falls to the ground in front of me. I look up and see a flash of red and white being pulled from a third story window.

Screams drown out the slurs. Steel is drawn and is twin to cudgels. The people on the roof tops scatter and duck for cover. The windows that aren’t shut and shuttered are filled with guards providing cover for their brethren. Guards and common folk alike trample each other, fleeing from fists and clubs, and steel and arrows.

I am tackled and shoved to the ground.

***

My shackles have an unmistakable bluish tint and the voice at my ear is filled with contempt. “What did I tell you about causing trouble on _my watch_ , you _mutinous bitch_?” Fur-lined cloak yanks my arms up and behind me. I have to bite my lip to remain silent.

He shoves me toward a new squad. I keep my feet and pull up in front of a slight guard who cannot be old enough to grow stubble. Without further word, the young guard pushes me in front of him and into the center of the circle of awaiting guards.

_Our agent will take you north and through the sewers. A skiff with a small sail will be waiting for you among the rocks, just east of the bridge._

_How will I know friend from foe, Dandelion?_

_They will appear young and slight—_

_—And foolish, lass._

_Me in shackles and a green guard? Against a full squad of armed and experienced men-at-arms?_

_I didna say this was without risk, lassie._

I am marched toward a setting sun and the city docks. We pass an alley way, which would provide cover—and take us north.

“While I enjoy fresh breezes as much as any air breather, I thought the gaol was near the civic center?”

From behind me, Fur-lined cloak chides, “The gaol is for petty crimes, not capital ones.”

“I didn’t realize _artistic expression_ was a capital crime, _sir_.”

“The pettier crimes require your tongue and your hands. You, however, blasphemed with _your_ _heart_ and _that_ requires _your death_.”

I stop. Fur-lined cloak calls a halt.

“Pull up my sleeves, _sir_.”

“I would not _pollute_ my duty by laying my hands on someone as _sinful_ and _corrupt_ as you.”

I bite back a retort. Instead, I opt for, “Then have one of your guards do it, _sir_.”

 _Reluctance_.

A set of wrinkled and calloused hands untie the ribbons at the wrist of my chemise. These are folded and rolled back until they reach just below my elbows.

“Wouldn’t my hands and arms be turning blue to indicate a poisoning if I could wield the magic, I am suspected of using, sir?”

_How long will it last, Regis?_

_I cannot be certain, my lady._

_Your best guess then?_

_My experience informs me the duration will be but a handful of hours maximum for those of your ilk._

_Worst case scenario?_

_You won’t live long enough to give your performance and your beloved will hunt me until I am destroyed._

“It is not me who is magic, _sir_. It is the instrum—”

“—good thing I had those _confiscated_ , my lady.” He yanks my arms up again as he whispers in my ear, “Since I can’t burn you at the stake today, your terrible devices will do.”

I try to take a step away and he yanks me back against him. “I will enjoy getting to know you before they take your tongue.”

“Aw! I’m flattered, _sir_ , but I am already spoken—”

He reaches up my chest and squeezes my throat.

I choke out. “—so, we’re going to your place first?”

Fur-lined cloak kisses me behind me ear and whispers, “We will have plenty of time for me to show you _your_ place during our voyage south. My man at the morgue warned you.”

“ _Blöde klootzak.”_

A handful of the squad stiffen for a heartbeat. Fur-lined cloak laughs. “I was told you know the language of your betters. You might keep your tongue a while, yet.”

The young and slight guard breaks rank. “Step away from the prisoner, _sir_.”

Fur-lined cloak releases my throat and wraps his arms tight around my waist. “Why? She is damned and not unpleasant to look upon.”

“She is in the custody of _our_ free city. She is to answer charges in front of _our_ juries, by the precedent of _our_ laws, and by the grace of _His Holiness_.”

“I have heard enough of this.” Fur-lined cloak snaps his fingers twice and five of my escort draw their swords. He addresses the young and slight guard, “You will stand down, you will allow us passage, and for that I might let you live long enough to report to your beloved Hierarch.”

Young and slight guard pulls the helmet from her head and draws her sword. “ _For Temeria and Je m’en fou!_ ” The remaining guards form up a wedge behind her.

I head butt and kick up behind me. The arms around my waist loosen up just enough so that I can drop and roll away. I leap away, pull my legs in tight against my chest, and scoop my arms forward. I pick up a handful of dirt and gravel as I land, pivot, and throw this in the face of Fur-lined cloak.

_I don’t care that my shackles are starting to burn my wrists._

I spin, I wrap the chain around the sword of the guard to my immediate left and pull. This is enough of a distraction that he is minus a sword and I am plus a sword. I kick him in the gut, pivot and parry the killing and overhead blow from the guard opposite

It is all I can do to maintain my grip, the vibration travels through my arms and into my torso. I rush the man and _push_ ; he is beetled and dazed several strides away from me.

I spin clockwise with the momentum and land both an upward and a downward slash across the back of the guard engaged with _her foolishness_. I make a hand gesture, stun him, and push him out of the way.

“Run, my lady!”

I twirl around the young woman and I make a break for the alley.

***

“Lass. _Lassie!_ ”

_Someone is being gentle with their slaps to my face._

I blink my eyes open. Zoltan is leaning over me. Eskel stands behind him.

“We need to hurry.”

I am seized with coughing and vomiting.

_I pull a pin from inside the lining of my vest._

_I pick a pair of locks._

_I vomit as they fall from my wrists. When I can breathe without heaving, I step away._

“Can you move yer longshanks? We’ve a boat to meet.”

I sit up. I am dizzy. I try to find my feet. I fall forward onto my knees and hands.

“Can ye?”

Eskel scoops me up for the second time and carries me to the skiff tucked away among the rocks.

I am deposited first, Zoltan steps over me and takes the rudder. Eskel pushes us off the embankment, hops in without dumping us all in the river, and takes the oars.

I try to sit up. Zoltan shakes his head and pulls me back down. “Don’t be daft. Rest now.”

“Water? Food?”

A water skin is pressed into my hand. “We didna plan on food.”

Eskel catches my eye and says, “I have some dried meat, but it will have to wait until we’re further away from shore.”

I drink half of what is in the water skin. This helps.

I wipe my mouth and clear my throat. “We were outnumbered… Nilfgaard.” I catch Eskel’s eye again. “The same man who visited the morgue after we… Quibbled.”

“What is this now, lass?”

“The man… The man with the fur-lined cloak when we arrived here… He—”

There is a quenched hiss near us. Zoltan looks behind the boat, pales, and urges, “Row _faster_ , lad!”

Eskel grunts and pulls longer strokes with his arms and legs. “The sail would help—”

“—them to set us afire, lad!”

There is another quenched hiss. It is closer this time.

“Lass… Lassie! Do you have any _juice_ left in ye?”

“I don’t know how portals work here and I’ve needed… Another to aid me when transporting more than just me.”

Zoltan goes on a _tear_ in his native language. “Can ye do something about the current, then?”

“ _I don’t know_. I’ve never tried with _water_.”

“Air then, lass?”

I shake my head. “That would require a _flammable_ sail.”

Zoltan goes on another tear. I interrupt, “I can help with the rowing. I just need—”

A non-flaming arrow hits the outside of our skiff, near my head.

“We’re out of time, lass!”

I make a hand gesture. I sit up.

The bank on the city side is lined with half a dozen archers fifty meters away. These do not wear any heraldry or insignia.

An arrow hits my shield and falls into the water.

I collapse back into the bottom of the boat.

“Lass, _Lass_!”

“I can row or I can hold the shield. If I row, someone will be injured. If I hold the shield, the two of you can continue as you are.”

“ _Nicki_ …”

Three more arrows hit my shield and fall into the water.

“I’ll take some of that dried meat now, Eskel.”

He reaches into one of his belt pouches and throws me a piece. I tear into this.

Four more arrows hit my shield and fall into the water.

_A pins-and-needles tingle begins behind my belly button and solar plexus._

I sit up. A tight cluster of three arrows hits my shield at the level of my head.

I _push_. I _stop_. I _look into_. I _reach_. I _pluck_. I _exploit_ the asymmetry. I vomit over the side of the boat.

The reflection of the flames and the echoing screams across the water magnify the horror on the faces of my companions. Silence is abrupt and quick; there is only the sound of the water against the sides of the boat.

_That pins-and-needles tingle expands throughout my body._

“Eskel?”

He tears himself away from the silent conflagration on the shore. “Yes, my Nicki?”

“I am out of time. I love you and I always will.”

***

**Epilogue.**

_The blue-green clarity of ozone._

_The air folds in upon itself._

_Shock waves emanate out from where I lay._

_I don’t ever want to see_ that _expression on his face ever again._

I am prone on a cow path. Good thing there are no _cow paddies_.

I raise my head and look around. I inhale.

_This cow path intersects with a cart path ahead of me._

_By the position of the stars, I think I am somewhere north of Novigrad. But they don’t make sense._

_Intentions nearby are not escalating, nor are they—_

Everything near me goes silent. The air goes still and the only scents in it belong to me.

 _They_ chuckle among the nooses of the gallows tree.

The tree bends and spreads at impossible angles and a figure emerges, stepping down and sideways into the crossroads. They coalesce and phase all around me in swirling bands of force and shadow.

I find my feet. “I was expecting another kind of holding cell.”

“Are you asking something of me, Nicole?”

I remain silent.

They tut. “I was hoping for your insolence, not your caution.” A tentacle materializes out of the air and caresses my neck before bursting into a cloud of biting insects.

I close my eyes and ignore them.

“There are not many who can command my attention for long, _my Nicki_. That is, without _dealing_ first.”

I close my mouth and I say nothing.

Their laughter expands; it is a sinister and beautiful thing. I reach up, expand, and go sideways so I can taste.

“Tsk. Tsk. _Naughty_ girl. _No peeking_!”

_The world around me turns to pain and white!_

I fall to my knees.

“That’s _better_.”

They circle me, claws scraping along my skin. “I am _forbidden_ from destroying you _or_ members of your line, so I must take what joy I can, _neh_?”

A force hits me square in the solar plexus and I feel something give way, bowing me over and leaving me retching.

“It amuses me to _no end_ that _you_ shall be _my_ instrument in _this_.”

The tentacles encircle me and brace me so I can stand. “ _You’re_ _it!_ And you shall remain _here_ until _it_ is complete. _So help you God_.”

They burst into laughter again and disappear.

A few heartbeats later, the creatures nearby go back to their stalking, and sleeping, and song. The gallows tree remains twisted and shattered in the distance.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all linguistic and spelling errors in Irish Gaelic, Welsh, Dutch, French, and Polish are mine.


End file.
